


A Soul as Sweet as Blood Red Jam

by RainyHaze



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, Very domestic, like wow guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyHaze/pseuds/RainyHaze
Summary: Illumi makes good on a promise to Hisoka to hunt down Chrollo, consequences be damned.





	A Soul as Sweet as Blood Red Jam

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, my second fic! This one took me months, I’m a perfectionist at heart and I definitely lost motivation at times. This pairing was hard to write canonically, especially because I placed them in such normal settings, but I enjoyed writing them all the same. The title is from Off to the Races by my queen, Lana Del Rey.

Illumi Zoldyck is hot on his brothers’ trail when he receives the call. Lightning quick just ahead of him, he can spot the flash of Killua’s shock white hair. Rain is pouring and everything is humid and miserable, the wind rushing past barely enough to cool the sweat on his brow. He loathes the sticky hot climate of the Azia continent, and knowing this fully well, his little brothers had picked this place to hide. The phone continues to vibrate against his hip, trapped in the pocket of his silky harem pants. Not slowing, Illumi takes out his phone. It’s Silva Zoldyck.

“Father,” he says cooly, pausing slightly to change direction as Killua darts to and fro. The forest undergrowth is uneven and Illumi takes care not to trip. “Illumi.” His father greets, equally as frigid. “You need to come home right now.” 

Illumi blinks slowly and shocked, the assassin skids to a stop, mouth agape.

“Excuse me?” Illumi exclaims, loathing his petulant tone. “I am on a mission.”

Silva’s voice remains even, “You need to return to the manor, your mother and I have come to a decision. I know you are busy hunting Killua and Alluka, but you need to come home.”

Illumi shivers as rain water soaks down the back of his shirt. His wet hair rises like ink spilled midair in response to his negative aura, no doubt alerting Killua to his exact presence. Great. The assassin is livid, gripping the cell phone tightly and gritting his teeth to suppress the bloodlust. Fine. He can just find them again. It only took him two years, didn’t it?

“Illumi.” 

Said man shakes his head and narrows his eyes before responding. “I’ll be right there father, give me a few hours.”

“If you continue chasing them I’ll know.” Is Silva’s response before the line cuts off. 

Illumi grinds a low lying palm leaf into the damp soil with the toe of his shoe, and runs back the way he came.  
…

The assassin opens all of the doors to the Zoldyck estate and storms through the grounds with his trademark poker face. Even at 25 his strength has continued to grow exponentially, with no limit in sight. Opening the gate is a piece of cake. 

It is raining here too, though not as heavily. Illumi is thankful to get out of the rain as he enters the mansion.

It feels too hollow, too empty, devoid of life, Kikyo and Silva standing side by side in front of the grand staircase. The chandelier above glitters and rain patters against the windows and Illumi’s footsteps echo as he calmly advances. 

He stops before them, water from his damp clothes dripping onto the clean marble floors. Silva gives him an approving nod, for what Illumi is not entirely sure.

Perhaps it was for following his father’s orders like a good boy. 

“We will make this short.” Silva starts. He glances at Kikyo who clings to one arm, head leaning against his shoulder. 

“Illumi, darling, we have decided to adopt a, oh how do the politicians call it nowadays, a policy of tolerance regarding Killua and Alluka. I love my children all very much and I would hate to see you all rip each other apart.”

“I know Alluka is a...problem, but Killua seems to have her under control for the moment. It is best to turn a blind eye to the whole ordeal. I cannot allow you to kill each other.” she finishes this with a delicate flourish of the hand, laser focus trained on Illumi.

You love Killua very much,Illumi thinks to himself. 

“So, you will no longer be permitted to track Killua or Alluka.” Silva finishes, deep voice booming and taking up all the oxygen in the room. Illumi would surely have suffocated if it were not for his training. “And because we all know how irrational you are around your brothers, you will be put on probation.”

“House arrest.” Kikyo adds sweetly, examining manicured fingers. Illumi is reeling. He never thought his parents would side against him. He had known that Killua was Kikyo’s favorite, he was the heir after all, but it would have been hypocritical of him to hold that against her. Killua was also his favorite. It still hurt. He feels like a child again, being reprimanded by his parents when he thought he had been completely in the right.

His parents are tense. They are likely preparing for Illumi to lash back at them. But the strange thing is that Illumi feels like doing no such thing. Instead he ducks his face and pushes past his parents to climb the stairs. Photographs and painted portraits line the lengthy, caliginous hallways of the mansion and their steely eyes follow him down the carpeted corridor. 

Illumi flops onto his bed to sulk and throw pins at the ceiling. Like a child. A sloppily thrown golden pin misses its mark and instead slices a hole into the crepe bed curtains. He huffs and gets up to drag himself to bathe, leaving the pin where it is for now and sighing as he sees the wet imprint of his back on the bedspread. 

The water is near scalding and Illumi is on fire, sinking his head underwater. He holds his breath for as long as he can, then longer, until his lungs burn and he is hot inside and out. Usually he would take the time to condition and blow dry and straighten his hair, but now he returns to bed unkempt. He throws a few more pins at the window to close the drapes before turning over to sleep.

…

An hour or two or three later, Illumi is jolted from his doze by the chirp of his phone. It is followed by two more chirps. Groaning, he rolls over to take a closer look.

Hey, we still got our thing planned?~

We’ll meet in York Shin to start looking, right?~

Also, what do you think about these boots?~

Hisoka. Of course. Illumi had forgotten. 

Illumi may or may not have promised to help Hisoka find his spider. A week from now. A small part of Illumi has been almost looking forward to the prospect of seeing his ally again after two years of minimal contact. It seems that life has gotten in the way.

I cannot.

My parents interrupted my mission today to tell me that I am no longer permitted to hunt Killua and Alluka. Also I am what you would call “grounded”.

Those shoes do not look like clown shoes.

The assassin types his response and throws his phone back onto the comforter. He reaches for a brush on his nightstand and gets to work combing through his tangled hair. Aforementioned shoes Hisoka had included a photo of are made of shiny, high quality leather that reaches the mid thigh, with a sensible five inch heel.

And you’re just going to let them ground you dear Illumi? Why should that stop you?~

Also excuse me, what did you just imply about my fashion choices?~

Illumi struggles to work through a particularly difficult knot with one hand as he replies using the other.

It is intrinsic to the family system. I am the child. I listen to my higher ups. Think of it like a job.

Your usual tastes reek of sexually deprived court jester. Those look like stripper boots.

The response is immediate.

You are 25 Illumi, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to exercise some independence every once and awhile.~

Do they? I was thinking more dominatrix style but whatever you say~  
It’s the leather, don’t you know hon?~

Angry and confused, Illumi turns his phone off with a petty sniff. He needs to “exercise more independence”? He’s the definition of independent. Illumi has been practicing the art of assassination for as long as he can remember. His parents rely upon his razor sharp skill and Illumi constantly continues to improve upon his abilities on his own. He exceeds expectation. He is nearly unstoppable. If nothing else, Illumi takes immense pride in his work and genuinely enjoys it. Also, he was raised in enough luxury to easily note what constituted well crafted footwear.

That aside, what was a dominatrix? Illumi turns to google for this one and spends a solid thirty seconds reading the definition before crinkling his nose in disdain and falling back onto the bed.

…

Illumi does not have to remain in his room for the duration of his grounding, but he chooses to anyway. Kikyo had sent a butler to bring Illumi dinner and tell him the details of his punishment the night of. He had remained impassive, picking silently at his pheasant and tossed greens with sparkling silver as the the butler wrung his gloved hands and rushed through the explanation. 

He supposed it could have been worse. When Kil had nearly killed Kikyo and Milluki, he had been strung up in the dungeon. It was as if his parents felt the need to hide their favoritism through over exaggerated measures. Meanwhile, Illumi’s only restriction is that he is not to not leave the estate. It shows the difference between the eldest and the heir. He would almost rather feel the biting sting of the whip on his spine and the unyielding chains at his wrists. That would have at least built endurance. Moping in his room benefits no one.

The assassin has covered his room in his signature golden pins, and they catch the glow of the firelight. A lone suit of armor is dented and bent almost out of recognition. The luxe curtains are shredded and ripped, hanging limply from the curtain rods. The glass shards from a broken bottle of vintage red litter the wood floor. Nonplussed by the squalor around him, Illumi lays leisurely on a lush sheepskin rug. 

He’s been wearing the same pair of satin jade sleep shorts and top for the past week. They were impeccably luxurious and bougie at the start of the week, but now they are stained with red wine and blood, the emerald and crimson oxidizing a garish brown.

At the moment he is composed enough, storm brewing under his skin though it was, making his way through a dusty collection of Edgar Allan Poe short stories and poems. The stories are grotesque and Illumi delights in them. It is sometime past twelve but still before sunrise, a hazy hour, and when the disgruntled assassin hears the first screams he thinks nothing of them. 

Assassination and kidnapping attempts are not an everyday occurrence, but they are not uncommon either. The Zoldyck family was a lofty target, but certainly a prize worth obtaining. As if they could ever be touched. Illumi turns a page, nonchalant, eager to find out how long it takes to lay the brick prison. He ponders how long it will take the man to run short of oxygen, the carbon dioxide stifling, the brick dust settling into the mucus of his throat, choking him from the inside out. 

Meanwhile the cries and sounds of combat escalate until Illumi is certain there is fighting on the roof. A boom of thunder muffles the sound of scuffling feet upon the rooftop for a second before resuming. 

The rain is pouring down just as hard as it was in Azia that day and it puts Illumi in a sour temper. Perhaps it’s time to resume target practice already.

But before Illumi can rouse himself from the warm fur and the rising action of the story he holds, the paned windows fly open with a crash.

…

The windows shudder and creak as the battered curtains whip about in the wind. Thunder cracks and the whole sky seems to roll as Illumi lazily glances at the scene from the corner of his eye. He catches a split second flash of lightning. Kil?

He stands tall and dark in the window frame, smirking, golden eyes narrowing like a cats’. 

Not Kil.

Hisoka’s hair is a retina burning fire red, and he has ditched his face paint in favor of sleek pointed eyeliner. Instead of his usual clown attire, he wears a black sleeveless top cropped at the waist with glossy black pants. The cherry on the sundae is the pair of boots Illumi had seen over text. They’re even more sinful in person, adhering to Hisoka’s long muscular legs and accentuating his height. He envies the magician’s balance as he remains perched on the windowsill in teetering heels sharp enough to kill a man, smirk ever intact.

“Hello dear Illumi. I have come to your rescue.” Hisoka extends a hand. 

Illumi glares back, appalled. Once again the clown has managed to sneak under his radar. And who said he needed saving? If he wanted to have left he could have at any time. He tells Hisoka so.

“I never said I wanted to be rescued, Hisoka. Whenever I want to leave I can. I just have no reason to.”

Hisoka’s eyes never leave his, trained and focused even as the curtains flutter around him like they’ve been given life. 

His retort is quick. “You promised, Illumi. Also I would hate to leave you here. It doesn’t seem to be to your liking.”

As Hisoka speaks his eyes wander to the mess around the room. The shards of glass, the scattered pins, Illumi himself, with his bloodied pajamas and sallow complexion are reflected in the other man’s eyes. He sees everything.

“You are not one meant to be sedentary for long. It does not suit you.”

Illumi seems embarrassed for the first time during their exchange, pale cheeks darkening a few shades. 

They sit silently, the shouting and footsteps faded in the background of the clatter of rain and the howling of the wind. Hisoka raises a brow in unspoken query. A strong draft cuts through the room, lifting Illumi’s hair. The unwashed strands float about him, shining with excess oil.

Illumi is determined to remain in his room. That is, until he senses his father’s presence, taking the stairs four at a time, aura spiking. He stiffens.

Hisoka sighs and rolls his eyes, moving to sit languorously, resting his cheek on his hand. “You know, I’ll be disappointed if you don’t come with me. I’ll probably have to kill your dad to make up for it.”

“You could not.” Illumi shoots back with a scathing glare. Frustrated at Hisoka’s proposition, he finger combs through his hair with a scowl. “You are not that strong.” Even if they did fight, Illumi would be more embarrassed than anything. Silva knew that Hisoka was an associate of Illumi’s, but had yet to meet him in the flesh. Hisoka was the sort of associate one hoped would never meet their parents.

“I don’t know Illumi,” the magician sing songs, kicking his feet back and forth childishly, “it's been a while since you’ve seen me in action.”

He smiles suggestively as he says this, lips curling, eyes gleaming. Exasperated, his father’s presence drawing closer, his patience wearing thin, Illumi rises and picks a few pins out of the wall. He’d rather not chance it. His family affairs were enough of a mess as they were and tossing Hisoka into the mix would only worsen their relations.

Huffing, he storms towards the window, securing a ribbon of hair to the back of his head with two pins. One of them pricks his finger, fat drops of blood falling to the floor. Hisoka’s grin stretches across his face like the Cheshire Cat. Far too quickly, he darts forward to grasp Illumi’s hand. Hisoka draws Illumi’s hand to his lips, licking up the pinprick of blood with a pink tongue. 

Illumi sneers but doesn’t withdraw his hand, and Hisoka pulls them both out the window and onto the roof. The two stand precariously on the slippery roof before giddishly sliding off, hands intertwined.

The pair gracefully land and separate. They sprint side by side through the dark copse that surrounds the immediate estate, puerile and liberated. Above and to the sides are butlers, rushing in hot pursuit. But Illumi and Hisoka cannot be matched, speeding through the grounds in a pitch blur. 

They make it to the gate. “After you.” Hisoka purrs, hip cocked and mouth corners turning up. Illumi, buzzing with adrenaline and struggling to keep his smile off his face, pushes the doors.

The gate slams open with a resounding boom. It echoes through the mansion and shakes the earth below them. “Not bad.” The magician comments before taking off again. They make their way down the mountain, now unpursued, but running just as fast for the hell of it. 

The winding mountain roads are slick with rainfall and Illumi can feel the soggy pine needles caked underneath his flat shoes. Just before they reach the small village at the base of the mountain, Hisoka breathes, “Let’s stop for a sec.” The assassin acquiesces and pauses to lean against a solid evergreen. 

“So I was thinking,” Hisoka starts, trying and failing to restyle his hair, “we could catch an airship to Yorkshin and go from there.”

Illumi would much prefer a structured, clear plan, but he does not tell Hisoka so. Hisoka seems to always have a scheme of some sort, and he was unlikely to reveal his plan to Illumi. Even if Illumi asked, the man was sure to lie. He was a born liar.

Blinking rainwater from his eyes and wiping his brow, Illumi nods. 

“I have a place in Yorkshin, we can use it as a base of sorts.” Hisoka says idly.

“Oh, I was unaware. That is a good idea though, working backwards to find your spider.”

The magician jerks his head back to the path they have been following and Illumi falls into a fast paced walk beside him.

“So. What have you been up to Illumi?” Hisoka asks genially. “We haven’t really had time to catch up.”

They had had time, they had just wasted it gawking at each other and fooling about like children. 

“I have been working to track down Alluka and Killua for the past two years. Though I have taken short breaks to complete jobs for my parents.”

“Hmm.” Hisoka hums in lieu of a solid response, twirling his red bangs around his pointer finger.

Illumi takes it as a cue to carry on speaking.

Tucking his wet hair behind his ears he says, “It took me forever to locate them, and even longer still to maintain their trail and catch up to them. I was barely a few feet behind the two when father called me.”

Hisoka takes a few strides, long and fluid, to step in front of Illumi. He continues walking in front of the assassin, backwards. His tawny eyes glimmer in the starlight. “Doesn’t that seem suspicious? That you were stopped moments before capturing them?”

Illumi considers this. “I suppose it does. But is it important anymore? I was instructed to leave the situation alone. If I was stopped on purpose while I was close to obtaining my goal to rile my anger, it still changes nothing.”

The magician tilts his head curiously. “How so?”

Illumi straightens a bit, proud and aristocratic in his stained pajamas, standing in the eye of a storm. 

“I am choosing to leave that behind. I am a professional assassin, I exist to carry out my duties. I will never let something as menial as emotion affect my decision making.”

Hisoka laughs, doubling over. “Wow, you haven’t changed a bit, have you Illu?”

The other man glowers at the giggling magician. “I do not understand what is so amusing.”

Still grinning and clutching his sides, Hisoka looks at Illumi brightly, “Don’t worry about it, it's just good to see you again.”

…

The two arrive at the village a few hours later just as the sun is beginning its ascent. The village is tiny and besides a few inebriated bar patrons and early risers, the streets are clear and quiet. It is easy to locate the airport. Hardly an airport really, it has only a single airship and a few planes.

The drizzle has carried on and the pair are bloody and rain soaked. Illumi studies a scarlet drop as it rolls down the curve of Hisoka’s cheekbone while Hisoka forks over extra money for their flight. This way no questions are asked and they are briskly escorted to their seats. 

They sit in stiff, ripped seats across from one another. How pedestrian. “Cards?” Hisoka asks, producing a shiny new deck out of nowhere. 

Illumi is still shifting fussily about to get comfortable in his rigid seat as the ship takes off. He huffs when he finds his efforts to be fruitless. “Sure, but the only thing I know how to play is go fish.”

Hisoka pauses from shuffling his cards to gasp dramatically and stare at Illumi in shock. “Just how deprived was your childhood if that’s the only card game you know?”

“Very.” Is the assassin’s deadpan response.

Hisoka snorts and spreads his legs a bit so he can lean forward. “Go fish it is then. I might need some liquor for this to be tolerable though. Are you interested?”

Illumi shrugs and the motion causes his shirt to slide down one shoulder. Some of the buttons had fallen off during their escape, the threads that held them to the shirt unraveled and frayed beyond repair. “It would not do much for me. Alcohol is, in its base form, poison. As you know I am resistant to 99.9 percent of po-“

“Yeah yeah yeah Illu, I’ve heard it all before. I’ll just be sure to order plenty. Loosen up for once.”

Illumi recoils as if hit. Well, he likely would not recoil if physically hit, but it's his lofty pride that’s damaged. 

“Fine.” He mumbles, dumbstruck, rubbing his arms to warm himself.

He has always felt equal, if not superior, to Hisoka in both skill and intellect. That had been their dynamic in their more formal collaborations. Their power had always existed in a fragile balance, and as they had never fought each other all out, they were forever unaware of the full breadth of each other's abilities. Illumi had no home now and as much as he hated to admit it, Hisoka was the closest thing he had to a friend. It was strange to see that the magician was in a way, stronger than him. He was well suited to the real world. The man had been living off of his own genius since his childhood while Illumi had been spoiled and sheltered. The scale seemed to be tipping towards Hisoka. Illumi supposed this was an opportunity to become more self sufficient. He straightens his posture.

The flight attendant brings them a bottle of red and two glasses during the middle of their second round. Hisoka thanks her with a charming smile and the woman flushes and stumbles out of the room. 

Illumi ponders this exchange as he studies his cards. “I do not understand why you have that effect on others.” Illumi admits at last. Their conversation for the last twenty minutes had been limited to “do you have an eight” and “go fish”. 

Hisoka languidly meets his inquiring stare. His lips quirk upwards. If he is alarmed by the nature of the question he does not show it. “Do I not have that effect on you?” He swirls his vermillion wine and takes a delicate sip. 

Illumi frowns and brings a hand to his chin. “No I do not think so. I have never really stopped to think about it. I have more important things to concern myself with.”

“Not now.” Hisoka encourages,” You have all the time to think about it right now.”

Hisoka is right. They are on no tight schedule. Illumi aquieses and squints at the devious man in front of him.

His hair is down, drying in loose waves and his eyeliner and mascara are smudged around his eyes. Hisoka’s face is narrow and sharp and extreme. His eyes are long and upturned, the bridge of his nose a bit crooked, likely from an improperly set broken nose. His brows point dramatically, but Illumi guesses that is a result of cosmetics. Studiously, his eyes travel downward to the broad line of Hisoka’s shoulders, the width of his chest, the sliver of midriff peeking from below the hem of his top, and the pointed toes of his leather boots.

In a purely scientific, objective point of view, Hisoka is conventionally attractive. Under all the dye and makeup and bloodstains and glamour, the man has a perfect body and breathtaking features. But a more primal part of him thinks, good. Something in his gut tightens and warms and he forces himself to look up. To look right into Hisoka’s predatory amber eyes. 

He knows. He knows what I think of him. That is why he is especially smug. Fuck.

“I have never really thought about it before, but I think you are attractive.” That in itself was a lie. Throughout their scattered meetings over the years, Illumi had felt flickers of attraction to the man every once and awhile. They were easy enough to ignore.

Hisoka nods vigorously as he nurses his wine. He sets his cards down and moves even farther forward till Illumi can feel his warm breath on his cheek and smell the sickly sweet tang of alcohol on his lying tongue. 

“Mmm tell me more Illu, you’re never this open. Tell me how pretty I am.” He purrs, lines blurred and expression bright with delight and curiosity. Illumi sits perfectly still, unsure how to respond. The alcohol has made the magician more flirtatious than usual.

It does not help that his body is betraying him. Some part of him wants nothing more than to melt into Hisoka. The long pale column of his throat, beaded with pinpricks of perspiration. The sprawl of his long long limbs, all over the seat and the table in between them and on Illumi’s lap. His cheeks flush florid and he looks skyward in desperation.

Barely thinking, he tilts his head and leans forward till his lips are brushing Hisoka’s. The air is heady with alcohol and perspiration and rainwater and Illumi has to fight hard to not get pulled into it. He takes Hisoka’s bottom lip in between his teeth , foot pressing between Hisoka’s spread legs. Hisoka whines. Illumi then nips sharply and pushes the magician away from him in one fluid motion.

Hisoka exhales with an oomf, air forced from his lungs, the sound melting into a smooth moan. “God Illu.” He pants, gripping the arm rests of his seat desperately. “I never know what to expect from you.” He says with a breathy laugh.

Illumi rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest before turning to face the window and closing his eyes.

He can feel the magician’s gaze even as he drifts into sleep.  
…

Illumi wakes to piercingly bright light. “Fuck.” He hisses, moving impulsively to turn away from the window.

“Congratulations Illu, you’re a fucking vampire now.” 

Illumi groans.

“When’s the last time you saw daylight, huh Dracula?”

“Fuck you.” The assassin grumbles, blinking his eyes open to see Hisoka’s cheery face. While Illumi had been sleeping the man had touched up his makeup, somehow, and he looks as impeccable now as he had framed in Illumi’s bedroom window. His mouth goes dry.

“Ship’s just landed sunshine, time to head over to my place.” 

God, Illumi loathes how domestic that sounds. But then again, he feels a spark of...something in his chest. It’s mushy and saccharine and it makes him exceedingly uncomfortable. It was a sort of pain unfamiliar to him, neither the bite of a blade or the explosive burn of a bullet. Ugh. What a horrid way to wake up.

Light streams through the small airship window and as the two step off the aircraft, Illumi stares up at the sky. There were but a few passing clouds and the sun was high above them, so it had to be somewhere around 12. 

Hisoka’s all black ensemble is just as stunning in daylight, to no one’s surprise. Especially not the stewardess, who Hisoka blows a kiss to on the way out. Hisoka stretches leisurely and looks towards Illumi. 

“Ah, you’re still here. I was certain you would had disintegrated by now darling.”

On edge in the crowded airport, dirty skin clothed in grimy clothing, unnerved by his new feelings, he levels his steely glare at the magician. “The pet names are going to need to stop, Hisoka. I am not above leaving you here.”

Was that harsh? Illumi was harsh. He was absolutely brutal. He killed people for a living. He should really leave it there and not open his mouth again. 

“If anything you are the vampire. I do not drink blood but I know someone who does.” Illumi adds.

“Not everyone with a blood kink is a vampire, Illumi.”

Illumi snickers and covers his mouth with a hand. Hisoka looks over at him, eyes sparkling with mirth. 

“You are disgusting as usual.”

“How could you ever expect anything less from me?”

Hisoka hails a taxi with a wave of his hand and the driver doesn’t spare the odd pair a glance. Taxi prices were high here, but the service came with the added benefit of fewer questions being asked. Hisoka and Illumi were certainly not the strangest the driver had seen. 

As the car weaves through building traffic, Illumi turns his head to look out the window and examine the city. Lights in every color of the rainbow and then some flash insistently and thralls of people crowd the insufficiently wide sidewalks. It’s a far cry from his sprawling archaic ancestral home with its quiet hallways and kept grounds.

Beside him Hisoka hums quietly, tapping a heeled foot to the floor in time. The tune is fast paced but velvety smooth in the back of his throat and Illumi thinks that it suits the city and the man himself. Illumi tears his attention from the outside world and asks, “What are you singing?”

The man barely pauses to say, “You wouldn’t know it.”before returning to his humming. Illumi crosses his legs and jolts his foot up and down impatiently. He is ill rested and dirty and irritable. He is also fervently hoping that Hisoka’s “place” isn’t a dump. If push comes to shove, Illumi might be digging a hole to sleep in tonight.

They stop in between two looming skyscrapers that look identical to all the other buildings around them, all reflections of one another in shiny glass panels. Hisoka rolls his shoulders and exits the car before Illumi. He opens the assassin’s door with a flourish, as if they are about to strut across a red carpet and not pick their way through filthy urban backstreets. Startled by the action Illumi takes the offered hand and is pulled to standing.

The magician motions for the assassin to follow him, as if he has a choice at this point, and Hisoka fades into the shadows cast by the high rises above. Here in this dank alley, time seems to stand still. Here there is no noise besides the hum of life in the distance and no light besides the dull gleam hundreds, maybe thousands, of feet above. Illumi feels dizzy with it all, the adventure and the unknown. Ironically, Hisoka is his only tie to normalcy.

Hisoka leads him to an apartment building tucked away amongst other shady establishments and hidden in a maze of winding pathways. “Home sweet home.” Hisoka smiles and guides Illumi forward, hand grazing the dip of his back, the light touch sparking his nerves. Inside the building seems rather plain, but it doesn’t embody the same strange despair of the surrounding neighborhood. It’s nothing special, which leaves Illumi confused. This residence does not suit Hisoka’s flamboyance in the least.

In the elevator, floor three hundred and two glows and Hisoka continues to hum his tune, totally at odds with the tinny jazz surrounding them. Illumi wonders how he can keep his focus so well.

“This seems...very unlike you Hisoka.” Illumi disrupts the lapse in conversation at last. 

Hisoka rests against the handrail, and examines a hand. “Does it now.” He murmurs cryptically. 

Illumi supposes that he was playing up the air of mystery he constantly maintains, as part of it is about to dissipate the moment Illumi enters the man’s apartment. He huffs and cracks his neck loudly, the sound causing Hisoka’s eyebrows to raise.

“You know if you were trying to threaten me Illumi, one usually cracks their knuckles, not their neck.”

Illumi ignores the comment and a ding cuts through the jazz and the magician’s humming. The old doors squeak open and the two step into Hisoka’s apartment complex.

Hisoka’s tall heels click against the polished hardwood and he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s probably not what you are used to, but it sure beats sleeping underground, hm?”

Ah. The man wasn’t completely lying when he said he was shy all those years ago. His timidness manifests in unusual ways though. The apartment was nothing to be ashamed of. It had floor to ceiling windows that looked over the lights and voracious life of the city, and the main rooms were connected by a charming open floor plan.

There was an open door frame leading to what looked like Hisoka’s room, and a closed door that was likely the bathroom. What was demanding Illumi’s interest at the moment though was the plush blue velvet settee against the windows, tucked near a brick fireplace. 

“I do not know about you Illu, but I feel wretched. I’m going to bathe, you’re welcome to the shower afterwards.” Hisoka states, pulling his shirt over his head as he saunters to the closed door. 

“Or join me.”Hisoka adds cheekily.

Instead, Illumi flops onto the settee, far more tired than he thought possible. He drifts into a light sleep, curled up on the sofa.

 

…

The curtainless windows are void of sunlight and instead the man-made glow of the city streams in. Teals and neons and harsh reds spot the large room. Earlier it had felt cozy and chic, but now the flat holds a sense of mystique it had not previously. Illumi rises and pads to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water.

The water sloshes cold and fresh against the back of his teeth. The whole abode smells overwhelmingly spicy sweet, and while the water washes the stale remnants of sleep away, it does nothing to rid him of the exotic fragrance. 

At times he had tracked Hisoka down in this manner, by scent alone, before they had both come to the agreement that it was ridiculous to hunt each other down like dogs whenever they needed something. It had taken years for Illumi to give Hisoka his number. Illumi suddenly feels a little lost swimming in the faint lights and the all encompassing scent of his new partner. 

He makes his way to the bathroom as silently as he can, even though it doesn’t make much of a difference. Hisoka had likely awakened as soon as Illumi took his first steps toward the kitchen. It would be ludicrous to not be on your guard in the presence of a Zoldyck.

Said Zoldyck lowers himself into the rushing water of the bath and sighs. Bathing always felt amazing but there was a sick satisfaction to washing when you were especially unclean. He uses spicy cinnamon suds to wash off the blood and dirt, red flakes falling free from his pale skin. 

He runs the bath a second time once the water turns a rusty red, like paint water but infinitely grosser. Now, rested and clean, Illumi sits in solitude. 

It should have felt like his time stuck at home, but it does not. Then there had been a dull ache in his head and an itch in his fingers that sparked him to break something, hurt someone. Now his heart beats loudly and his breaths come and go in a bodily harmony. The humid fragrance of Hisoka’s cinnamon body wash surrounds him like an embrace. He grips his knees tightly, water sloshing against the sides of the tub, when a knock disrupts his meditations.

“It’s Hisoka.” The voice is hoarse and low with sleep. Who else would it be?

When Illumi makes no complaint, Hisoka lets himself in to set some clothes on the granite counter. He’s only wearing sleep pants, but that’s much more than Illumi’s wearing. The assassin feels exposed, but there is not much ire in his glare. He stares up at Hisoka from sheets of wet dark hair, hair so long that the tips swirl in the water at his sides.

“Thanks.” He mumbles. Hisoka seems disturbingly genuine and mature as he nods sleepily and returns to bed. 

“Till an hour that’s not so ungodly, Illumi.”

Illumi melts back into the water, musing upon which hours are ungodly and which aren’t. 

Hisoka walks into the living room the next morning to see Illumi in his clothes, stretched out half on the settee and half on the patterned rug. He is on his back and his arms stretch above his chest, hands gripping a crimson covered book. 

“Good morning Hisoka.” He greets, not looking up from the text. 

Not much of a morning person, he waves a hand in greeting and starts to make his morning coffee. He pours a second mug for Illumi and sits beside him on the sofa. He hands him the mug, a simple gray, and sips at his own, a rainbow monstrosity he had originally bought as a joke, but was now quite fond of.

Illumi doesn’t bother to change his posture and sniffs the coffee before taking a gulp. “Oo, you make it strong. I like strong coffee.” The assassin cradles the mug with one hand and uses the other to hold his book loftily. 

“Edgar Allan Poe? Suits you Illu.” Hisoka says, melding to the couch and tucking his legs under himself. Illumi squints up at him. The view is spectacular, the magician bare but for his black sweats, the sun glowing behind him like a halo. He snorts. As if. No way in hell that man could be an angel.

But the sun softens Hisoka’s sharp edges and he seems more human. Illumi feels a bit more human too, sitting casually and enjoying his morning, appreciating an objectively beautiful man. Enjoying his morbid book in the presence of a lethal man. He doesn’t attempt to crush the warm and fuzzies, and instead aims to distract himself from their luring comfort.

“How did you want to go about finding your spider?”

Hisoka hums and tilts his head back, thinking. “It would not surprise me if he has finished his eastward pilgrimage. My gut is telling me he is here.”

Any other person would have questioned Hisoka’s vague deduction, but Illumi nods along. As a fighter it is often best to go with what you know, to follow intuition. Such reasoning has rarely led Illumi wrong before, but here with Hisoka, he feels that he has abandoned all reason. 

“He seems like a nightclub kinda fellow, so I was thinking we could check out a few of those.” Hisoka continues.

Once again, Hisoka’s loose plans begin to irk Illumi, but he pushes them aside. Lack of planning seems to be making him anxious. “If you say so, you know the city better than I.”

“Tonight it is then.” The man announces.

Illumi drains the final dregs of his coffee and places the mug on the floor. The most concentrated sip of coffee slides on his tongue, the flavor fading. “Though I do have a vague Birdseye map in my head.” He adds as an afterthought.

Hisoka gets up to take the empty cups to the kitchen. “Ah. All those rooftop chases, maps really do come in handy.”

Illumi lifts his torso up and grips the edge of the couch to keep himself from falling to the floor. “Say, Hisoka, I have not gotten much exercise lately. And I do not think ‘clubbing’ will be sufficient physical activity.”

Elbow deep in dish suds, Hisoka raises an eyebrow from the other room. “That’s what she said.”

The magician maintains a straight face for a few seconds before giggling at his own childish joke. Illumi leers at him. “Have you not matured since I met you? You were what, twelve?”

Illumi would have been better off saying nothing. “Well…” Hisoka grins and trails off suggestively.

“Fucking nasty.” Illumi retorts icily.

Hisoka chuckles again, “Are you voluntarily requesting a spar, Illumi? With little old me? I thought I was nasty!”

“The nastiest.” The assassin shrugs half heartedly. “It is not like I have a choice in the matter.”

Hisoka stares at the man momentarily, raising a brow, before turning back to his thoughts.

…

Hisoka makes them walk to the sparring location, and the whole affair is fraying Illumi’s nerves. They are surrounded by civilians, rude, dirty, lowbrow folk that push and pull at the pair as they try to make their way through the crowd. The act is an exercise in itself. An exercise of his dwindling patience. In addition he is still wearing Hisoka’s clothing, this time a pair of loose pants much too large for him and a tank top he feels exposed in. The arm holes are cut halfway down his sides, the whole world privy to a clear view of his ribs and obliques. Illumi is further pissed when he notices the telltale glitter in Hisoka’s golden eyes that indicates his awareness to Illumi’s discomfort. In short, the man is doing this on purpose.

These little tests of will, of restraint, in this seemingly domestic lifestyle the two have newly adopted are so like Hisoka that the assassin is not surprised. He would have been disappointed if domesticity was as dull as he had thought it to be.

They make their way to another shady area of town, quite literally, a narrow clearing behind an ill maintained park enclosed on either side by shitty condos. 

Hisoka rolls his neck and folds forward into a brief stretch.“Here we are Illu.”

Illumi picks at the hem of his tank top. “Rules?”

Hisoka kicks a stray can to the side and the glint catches Illumi’s eye. “No nen, a ten second hold to win the round, best two out of three.”

Illumi isn’t able to reply before Hisoka comes flying at him, all flaming hair and liquid movement. He dodges, barely, as the man grazes his side, sharp nails scratching the exposed skin.

“Dirty.” He murmurs, pulling the needles from his hair to fling them at Hisoka. The man was behind him, but has now sprung above him, arcing above his head. A pin catches a flapping pant leg and shears a few centimeters of hair off. “Fuck , Lumi, you mean business if hair isn’t off limits.”

Illumi flips and swings his leg to catch the magician by the shin, and they tumble to the ground in a jumble of bruised limbs and a chorus of grunts. Illumi can already imagine the two of them blooming violet and cobalt.

They are face to face, noses brushing, Hisoka panting under him. Their chests are flush together and Hisoka’s lips are curled in satisfaction. “Not as rusty as you thought, huh?” The words are strained and rough and Illumi pointedly ignores the man’s hardness pressed against his hip. “Ten seconds are up.” He hisses, the air scorching across Hisoka’s cheeks, the nonexistent space between them cloying. Illumi’s face is too red, he knows it must be blotchy at this point, and his sides heave in exertion. Neither of them move to separate.

Illumi decides to be the adult out of the two of them. He rises and plucks his needles from the ground to knot his hair atop his head. Hisoka watches him the whole time, fascinated, and he licks his lips before standing. The pink star on his cheekbone is smudged and satisfaction twists deep in Illumi’s chest. Sex and physical proximity are weaknesses of Hisoka’s he has never bothered to exploit and he does not need to start now. But as Illumi steps forward to initiate the second round, he finds his curiosity growing. What could go wrong?

Hisoka wins the second set, pushing Illumi roughly against a brick wall despite the smaller man’s squirming. “Gotcha.”

Illumi blows a stray strand of crimson hair from Hisoka’s brow and wriggles out of his grip awkwardly. The feeling of the other man’s weight on him is dizzying and Illumi is thoroughly embarrassed. Though at this point, every action he takes feels awkward and unnatural. He is treading in uncharted territory, pushing himself out of his comfort zone. Anywhere near Hisoka cannot be counted as comfortable, the man’s aura far too volatile.

He is in the constant presence of a predator, someone as strong and possibly stronger than he. The riot of his stomach and the raised hairs on the back of his neck are indicators of fear, but the sensible signals don’t seem to be registering quite right in his brain. Instead he feels excited, electric, blood pumping fast and hot.

 

Illumi strides forward to begin the third round and Hisoka responds by aiming two cards at his jugular. The assassin does not flinch, instead catching the cards between his ring and pinky fingers before flinging them back to their owner. A king and a joker, respectively. The cards whiz past Hisoka and the man makes no move as Illumi approaches. His body is poised for action, every muscle on the edge of contraction, reflexes sharp. Illumi’s tactic is simple, but it relies on surprise, something fragile that could be crushed by a surprise of Hisoka’s own at any moment. They stand face to face, black eyes staring coldly into ochre.

 

Smoothly, keeping himself from shaking, the assassin snakes an arm around Hisoka’s waist and pulls their bodies together till the meet, closing the space between. Illumi presses his lips to Hisoka’s leaving them there. Hisoka stiffens before immediately melting into the kiss. Illumi tries to copy his movements, utterly inexperienced, until he feels something moist prod at the seam of his lips. 

 

Illumi can’t contain a squeal before he rips himself from their embrace. He wipes his mouth on his arm and spits on the ground. He scuffs it into the dirt, dust rising and coating his flat shoes. He raises his head to glare daggers at the smug magician.

 

“Would you mind telling me what the fuck that was?”

 

“A kiss Illumi, that was a kiss, I would have expected you of all people to know that. You initiated it.”

 

“Yes yes, I know that you idiot, I meant whatever your were doing with your tongue,” the man rushes impatiently,” that was not a kiss.”

They hold each other's gazes for countless uncomfortable seconds before Hisoka furrows his thin brows. “Illumi, that’s what a kiss is. Most people use tongue, it's not some ‘nasty’ thing exclusively perverts like me do.”

 

Illumi gapes in disbelief.

 

“I believe the grade school term for it is ‘French kissing’ or ‘snogging’.” Hisoka says, waving his hand as if that will better get his point across.

 

“Oh. I was unaware. Then it was rude of me to push you away like that.” Illumi says offhandedly. 

 

“Oh,” Hisoka purrs, walking beside him, “so would you be interested in resuming?”

 

“Not at this moment, no.” The assassin shoots back, untying his long hair and falling into step by Hisoka.

 

Well. It’s not a no. Hisoka is shocked he’s been able to push Illumi this far and decides not to try his luck. “Let me know if you’re ever interested then.” He smiles, winking cheekily.

 

“I’m hungry and you owe me food.” Is Illumi’s brisk reply.

 

The magician rolls his eyes and pockets his playing cards. “Very well.”

…

 

Hisoka chefs up some stir fry from whatever leftovers he has in his fridge back at the apartment. They dine together calmly, trading stories of past jobs they’ve taken. Not before Illumi spears the last piece of broccoli on his plate with his fork, Hisoka is pulling the man by his wrist to his room. Chewing sourly, Illumi lets himself be dragged.

 

Hisoka’s room is spacious, with the same wood flooring and stretching windows as the living space. However, these windows are edged by maroon curtains. They float in the breeze, and at second glance, Illumi notices an ajar glass door leading to a humble terrace. The rest of the room is relatively minimal, the space mainly consumed by an enormous bed pushed against another wall of windows, cream duvet plush and inviting. A few art pieces hang on the light walls, and there is a vanity surrounded on all three sides by mirrors. The closet, which the magician is currently pulling him to, is also a mirror. Vain, much?

“My personal pride and joy.” Hisoka lilts, pressing his free hand to his breast theatrically. He slides the doors open and Illumi isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Behind the mirrors is a generously sized walk in closet, walls lined with rows upon rows of full hangers. Scanning the room, the assassin recognizes a few of the outfits, namely the white and violet number Hisoka had worn when they had been chasing Alluka down together. Good times. Shoes, arranged by severe height to flat and pointed are stacked in designated cabinets.

“I never knew you were OCD.” Illumi mumbles quietly. In all honesty he is admiring Hisoka’s attention to detail and organization. The contrast of Hisoka’s orderly room and Illumi’s disaster-struck one are laughable.

“I didn’t figure it would take you this long to figure out.” Hisoka quips, corners of his mouth lifting. “I figured we could pick out something to wear for later. Feel free to look around.”

Freeing his hand from Hisoka’s grip, Illumi walks casually about the room. He doubts there is anything of Hisoka’s he would enjoy wearing. Then again, they were going to a club on a mission, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let Hisoka have some good clean fun. 

“I don’t know the first thing about clubs, Hisoka.” Illumi admits, crossing his arms and casting his gaze to the side. “The few times I have been I was disguised as a woman, and even then I always finished my jobs in under an hour.”

Hisoka drops a sequined shirt he was holding. “You can use your needles to disguise yourself as a woman?”

Illumi shrugs carelessly. “There is little I cannot do with my needles.”

Hisoka’s pupils dilate and darken and Illumi ignores the tingles sliding up and down his back. “I bet.” Hisoka says slowly, mouth thick around the two syllables. 

Hisoka clears his throat and the intense set of his features lifts. “I will just have to pick out something for you to wear then. Out, out, I want it to be a surprise.”

Illumi leaves, and Hisoka shuts the reflective doors in his face. He turns back to glare at Hisoka but finds himself glaring at a reflection of himself. The mirror shows him, cheeks still flushed, disheveled in his sweaty borrowed tank and pants, gray sky rolling just outside. 

Far more intrigued by the terrace, Illumi brushes the billowing curtains aside to step into the cold air. The ground is slick with last night's rain and he moves a succulent aside to lean over the railing. The streets are hundreds of feet below, a sickening height for some, but not to Illumi. He hooks his legs over the crude banister and pushes his weight forward till his hair flips into his face, loosened rubber band slipping free and falling. Illumi watches it, entranced, until it is lost somewhere among the thralls of commuters and glow of city lights.

“Illumi!”

Lost in his momentary revelry, Illumi starts and has to grip the terrace floor to retain his balance, nails grasping at the concrete.

“Hisoka.” Illumi exhales, moving to sit on the paling and toss his hair back.

“Illumi, you’ll never guess what I’ve found.” Hisoka grins, taking his smartphone from his pocket to shove it in Illumi’s face.

The assassin looks up and replies dryly, “I do not know, Hisoka, and outfit?”

Hisoka shakes his head, still smiling. “No, well yes, but no-Illumi there’s been a change of plans.”

As Hisoka speaks, Illumi’s dark brows slowly rise to a comical height. “Oh Hisoka, no, I cannot do that.”

Hisoka rolls his eyes. “Of course you can Illu, you just said you’ve frequently used your pins to go undercover. This will be no different. In fact, I doubt you’ll need a disguise at all to get his attention.”

On the small screen before him is a disturbingly familiar face. On the profile of a popular casual hookup site, no less. Illumi finds himself staring at the dashing portrait of a man in his mid twenties, dark hair slicked behind his bejeweled ears, a cross tattooed over his third eye. 

Illumi crosses his legs and points an accusatory finger to Hisoka’s chest. “You want me to go on a date with Chrollo. That tasteless, goth vigilante. The one you have yet to make clear whether you want to fuck or kill.”

Hisoka nods along with Illumi’s statements up until the last one. 

“Well, who says I can’t do both Illumi? I’m an efficient man.”

The assassin shakes his head. “If this will shut you up.”

 

...

Evening finds Illumi opening the glass door to a club tucked away in the backstreets of the arts district. He had tied his black hair up in a sleek tail, so high the ends of his hair barely brush the top of his borrowed turtleneck. With a final flick of eyeliner and a playful slap to his backside, Hisoka sent Illumi out the door and on his way.

Chrollo had been quick to accept his date request. It was no wonder, a Zoldyck was a sure catch, and the two had never talked face to face. The spider’s curiosity was warranted.

Illumi melts into one of the many shadows of the room, cast wherever the hazy red lighting does not reach. Eyes sharp, he casts his gaze about in search of his date. The room he is in now is a sort of speak easy, lavish sofas and chairs centered about a glistening bar counter. People here recline, chatting or drinking or kissing, sprawled across laps or falling into one another. An arched ceiling leads into a second room that resembles a sort of frenzy, a mess of grinding and body rolling and blatant sexual energy.

The walls are exposed brick, further enclosing the atmosphere and magnifying the rumbling beat, forming a sort of artistic carnal paradise. To his left, a woman with bright pink hair is pressed against the wall by a curvaceous blonde with hair down to her elbows. They collapse into each other until Illumi can see nothing but a writhing mass of bodies highlighted under red lights. He blinks and politely moves away. 

The drastic lighting strains his eyes so much so that he is forced to soften his gaze and look from under his lashes for Chrollo. Unsuccessful, the assassin slides up to the bar and orders a whiskey on the rocks. He leans against the bar, spine languid and curving to savor the oaky musk. Knowing Chrollo’s kind, he is hiding somewhere, waiting for an opportune moment. He can likely spot Illumi from wherever he is. Hisoka, too. Illumi doubts the jester would let him go about this without coming to watch the show. 

And Illumi decides to put on a bit of a show. With two dangerous sets of eyes on him and the bass so potent it shakes his diaphragm and the frosted drink in his hand, the exposed hairs on the back of his neck raise. He twines a leg around the bar stool and lets the other extend, a perfect, long line. He tosses his ponytail over his shoulder and curls his free hand under his chin. Illumi looks softly to the right to see a man moving to sit beside him. Ah.

Eyelids heavy, the assassin meets his target’s stare. He understands now why Hisoka is so obsessed in this man. Chrollo is clad in a lush black leopard fur coat, a chain belt keeping his pants from falling below his hip bones. The man curls his mouth in a small smile, genuine and curious. The spider extends a hand and Illumi corrects his bent posture to return the gesture properly. 

“So nice to finally meet you, Mr. Zoldyck.” The dangerous man greets. Illumi cocks his head and the corners of his lips raise slightly. He can play this game. Hisoka does it all the time.

“Please, that’s my father. Call me Illumi.” 

Chrollo’s grin widens. “You’d imagine my surprise when I saw you on that dating website this afternoon. I was so sure you Zoldycks were arranged marriages before birth.”

Illumi shakes his head minutely. “No, no, not all of us. Haven’t you asked Kalluto about it?”

The spider orders “whatever the handsome man to my left is having” before replying. “Of course, but I quickly found that Zoldycks are quite secretive.”

Illumi nods. “Ah, well, it is in our nature. You would not want to let it slip to someone that they are a dead man walking. How is dear Kalluto, by the way?”

“He is great, a truly skilled addition to the team. As of late he has been concerned about you, though.”

Illumi ignores his last point.

“Does he have your tattoo yet?”

“It really is bizarre when a Zoldyck breaks away from the family.” Chrollo continues. “You do have to wonder what drives you all away.”

Illumi swirls his glass and watches the liquid splash up the sides. He takes an agitated sip and exhales shortly and sharply from his nose.

“I want to know how my brother is doing as I have, of my own volition, left the family business for the time being. Does he have your gaudy tramp stamp or not?”

The spider’s nails lazily click on the marble countertop and he narrows his piercing silver eyes. “Ah, that was careless of me. A tad insensitive. I am sorry to have brought up such a touchy subject.”

Illumi is responseless.

“Kalluto has also declined to get his tattoo yet, if that makes you any happier.”

Much better. Maybe this night won’t be such a waste after all. Illumi thinks. Still, I would not mind moving this along. 

“Getting to business, Hisoka has his sights on you again. I do not know why, though I can certainly hazard a guess.”

Chrollo leans back, the chains at his waist clinking rhythmically, inky coat shifting and uncovering lily-white sides. “I figured it was only a matter of time. Gang matters have calmed and I myself feel much better after Kurapika’s chains have been lifted.” Smirking with the irony of the situation, Chrollo runs his fingers over the smooth loops of his belt chain. 

“You will have to ask him what he personally is hoping to get from this. I do not wish to be a go between. Hisoka’s affairs are always messy.” Illumi continues. 

Chrollo furrows his dark brows. “But I thought the two of you were living together now? That is not because… you see I was under the impression that...” 

“No. No, of course not. Well. Perhaps. Perhaps an outsider would see our association in that manner. But no matter Hisoka and my involvement, he is interested in you.”

There. The blunt honesty of the statement leaves a bitter taste in Illumi’s mouth. He takes a generous gulp of spirit to wash it away. The flavor remains stuck to the top of his palate.

“Hmm.” Chrollo ponders as a silence stretches between them.

The spider returns his attention to Illumi and smiles again. He clasps his hands together, and Illumi can see, excluding the thumbs, the eight legs of the arachnid. Chrollo seems to be a restless man, digits twitching and shoulders shifting, body and brain constantly in motion.

“I think, that there is no way in hell I would actively seek that man out. In fact, I would rather talk about you. Illumi, if I said I had a job for you, would you take it?”

“Conditions.” Illumi shoots back. He sits up straight and professional, lifting his chin a bit. He really could use the money, not to mention the chance to fill the gaping hole his lack of work had left in his life. 

Chrollo wastes no time. “Nothing too big, there’s a gala this coming Friday at an art museum a few blocks away. There are a few nosy mafia members that need to be quieted.” 

“Half of my payment before, half after.”

Chrollo hands him a stack of crisp bills and after Illumi pockets them, the man stands and offers an arm to the assassin.

“Care to dance?”

The gesture is unwittingly proper in an establishment held up by drink, neon lights, brick, and sex. Illumi takes Chrollo’s arm and lets himself be guided out of the lounge.

They fold in amongst the dancers and the absence of warmth from his drink is replaced by the cloying heat of a few dozen grinding bodies. There are people on all sides of him, unshy and unabashed in their intimate proximity. True to the arts district, everyone around him has made an intentional effort to appear outwardly unique, as evidenced by the glint of nose and navel rings as well as the flashes of kaleidoscopic hair at every turn. Thought the appearances are just that, appearances, the motion and emotion of every movement is raw and sincere.

And in front of Illumi, Chrollo had taken hold of Illumi’s slight hips, head ducking toward the assassin. The world is suddenly so much smaller as he looks into slate grey eyes and admires the glittering chunks of jade hanging from the shells of his ears and the gradual pitch of the man’s shoulders. Against him Chrollo is starting to build an unhurried rhythm. The spider tucks his head into the nook of Illumi’s shoulder and his jaw brushes Illumi’s ear. 

 

“Would he be jealous if I kissed you?” 

 

A forgotten breath is caught somewhere deep in the assassin’s throat. Chrollo’s fresh, piny scent hits his nose, strong and masculine. Illumi looks down at the man against his chest and gives a small, affirmative smirk. In turn Chrollo smooths a bit of hair against Illumi’s scalp and melts against him. There is no rushed scorching heat like with Hisoka. Whereas that had been a full body experience, he finds that his nerves are not frizzled like they had been with Hisoka. His center of focus is wherever their lips meet. This kiss is warm and molten and languid in a practiced way. 

Illumi finds it pleasant and tries his best to copy his partner’s actions. All the while their bodies move in tandem and the very air itself pushes against the heated pair. Illumi is not lost in the activity, though he can now see how one’s inhibitions could dissolve. Chrollo laps into his mouth, their tongues sliding and teeth parting. Now that Illumi has partaken in “French kissing”, he sees how effortless the progression from closed to open mouths is. They eventually break the kiss with a mutual sigh, Chrollo rubbing small circles against the cashmere at Illumi’s back, fingers occasionally rubbing the hem up to brush his lumbar vertebrae. 

Illumi cannot remember when anyone had ever been this gentle with him before. Illumi is not made of bird bones and cashmere and jewels, but he had to admit it was enjoyable to pretend he was. 

The assassin leans his forehead against the cross between Chrollo’s brows. “He is going to be pissed.” He whispers gleefully.

“Happy to help.” Chrollo grins. Their sour start to the evening had tempered now that Illumi has found a way to enjoy himself.

“I’ll see you Friday night?” Chrollo asks softly. Already the space in between them is growing, whatever bond they had shared shattering. 

“Of course.” Illumi responds, back to business. He rights his spine and elongates his neck, adjusting his sweater to fill the increased space.

“Alright then.” Chrollo says in way of good bye, eyes meeting Illumi’s a final time. The spider’s heartbeat, his presence, is lost in the thrum of the bodies and music, his violets and ebonys and greys shrouded by the vibrant crowd. Illumi pushes through the hordes of people and out the front door.

Pleased with himself and his successes of the night, Illumi looks up at the stars and thinks them a bit brighter.

...

Another day away from home, another night spent cramped on Hisoka’s blue velvet couch. Illumi wakes early with the sun just to work out the cricks in his upper back. 

Hisoka finds Illumi that morning in front of the crackling fireplace, the man arched forward and down, arms stretched over his head, hands clasped together.

“Morning.” Hisoka greets stiffly.

Illumi moves to one leg, lifting the other and waving his foot in greeting. Even turned away from each other, in spite of Illumi’s silly foot-wave, the tension is palpable. The moment Hisoka entered the room Illumi knew that he knew. 

Still, the assassin lowers to the floor to savor the heat of the fire and relay Chrollo’s message.

“Your spider told me that you will have to be the one to initiate it.” Whatever “it” is. Hisoka returns from the kitchen with his outrageous rainbow mug and a plain bagel. Their eyes meet and lock. Illumi, the king of staring competitions and resting bitch faces, is not to be bested. Hisoka scowls and takes a vicious bite of his bagel. Threatening.

“And you’ve got a second ‘date’?”

Illumi nods. “If you could even call it that, it's really just a job. I might be seeing him to review my second payment.” He is studying Hisoka carefully, noting the cracks in his usually calm demeanor. Of which there are many. Could he be jealous? Somehow this is reassuring. Maybe Hisoka actually wants him.

“I guess I will challenge him then.” Hisoka sighs, relaxing onto the settee, bravado collapsing around him. 

Illumi is puzzled. That’s it? He really expected more from the magician. Everything is still, save for the pops of the fire and crunch of Hisoka’s bagel. The assassin is irked when he spies all the crumbs Hisoka is leaving on the couch.

“I sleep there you know. Would you mind not leaving your crumbs on my bed?”

Hisoka smirks and Illumi is soothed by this return to normalcy. “Who, me?”

Illumi rests his head on his knees and nods.

“I know how uncomfortable this sofa is to sleep on. Why don’t you just sleep in my bed?” Hisoka suggests.

Their constant power struggle is up and running, the dominant position back up for grabs.

Illumi inhales. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“Grow up Illumi. I don’t have to be in bed with you to put the moves on you.” Illumi bristles. 

“If you so much as touch a hair on my head Hisoka I will-“

Hisoka waved his free hand frivolously. “Yeah I get it Illu. I’m not a predator, all my partners are consenting.”

“Well of course.” The assassin replies scathingly.

“Very enthusiastically consenting.” Hisoka adds, smile lifting the corners of his eyes. They really are so bright in the rising morning sun, cheerful and free of their usual malice. Hisoka’s rapidly shifting moods spark unease, apprehension twisting in Illumi’s stomach.

“How was he, by the way?” Hisoka asks placidly.

Illumi is often referred to as cold blooded, but he is positively sure of this fact now. His heart skips a beat and his deep breathing freezes.

The exact nature of Hisoka and Illumi’s relationship is unknown to both parties. Hisoka had always insisted on labeling it as friendship, even as he consistently toed the line between ally and enemy, friend and lover. The barrage of death threats and flirting was incessant, leaving boundaries hazy. As of recent, Illumi still declines to place a label on their unique circumstances, despite recently encouraging the former spark between them. It had progressed into a small flame. In Yorkshin with a self proclaimed homicidal magician, countries away from home, without the support of his family for the first time, Illumi was struggling. This man, this handsome lunatic who took every opportunity to unravel Illumi from the inside out, was all he had.

Whatever this was, Illumi had decided to let fate take its course. He had given up the reins the moment he slid out his bedroom window.

Now, what was the best way to avoid stoking Hisoka’s ego while hinting at the lacking chemistry from the night before?

Illumi meets Hisoka’s gaze. “It was nice. A little boring, but nice.”

And that is all Hisoka needs to know. He stands abruptly, blocking the dawn for a second. His red hair has faded to more of a ginger and the sunlight set it ablaze. “I’ve errands to run, don’t burn the place down.”

With that Illumi is left alone, running his fingers through the shag carpet and wondering what exactly had just happened. 

Hisoka was hard to read on a good day, much less a bad one, and Illumi decides it would be best for the two of them if he remained on the jester’s good side. So Illumi spends his morning hours flitting around the apartment. He washes dishes, waters Hisoka’s succulents, sweeps crumbs off his former bed. When he finishes, he is bored out of his mind, and spends the next half hour polishing his needles till they are near blinding in the midday sun. While snooping (as any good assassin would do), he finds a set of weights in Hisoka’s closet. The room is the cleanest in the apartment, ironic considering that Hisoka is the only one to ever see it.

Illumi lifts weights on the terrace till he is covered by a considerable sheen of sweat. He is making his way to the shower when he hears his phone buzz.

Ah shit. Three missed calls from Hisoka and a couple new texts from a number he does not recognize. First things first, he has to call Hisoka back.

“You called.”Illumi states in his usual monotone.

“Love, it is wonderful to hear your voice.” Hisoka giggles over the line. Something twists in Illumi’s chest. Uh oh. Another attack of the warm and fuzzies. Illumi narrows his eyes and grits his teeth.

“I thought we were through with the pet names.” He sighs, air hissing between his clenched teeth.

It was Hisoka. They would never be through with the pet names. His attempts would forever be in vain.

“Ah well, I was trying to get through to you to see what type of tea you like. I’m at the grocery store.”

“Matcha. Or any variation of green.” Illumi replies. He sits on the edge of the tub, twisting a strand of hair that had fallen loose from his bun around his finger.

“I’m not mad at you by the way. Just surprised. You just always find ways to surprise me Illu.”

Has he been drinking? Illumi does not know how to respond and instead grunts affirmatively and hangs up. He pushes aside his feelings (guilt, perhaps), looks at his mystery texts instead.

Hello Illumi, this is Kalluto.

Would you like to meet me at this address for dinner tonight? We haven't talked in a while.

Kalluto. It has indeed been a long time since Illumi has spoken with his little brother. The only thing in the world Illumi would admit to loving were his brothers, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t have a favorite.

Killua was the heir to the Zoldyck line and his exemplary skill and somehow untarnished innocence had always spoken to Illumi. The assassin had done unspeakable things in the past to keep Killua on track, to prepare him for the tough life preset out for him. Illumi did such things because he himself had followed his parents plans and figured that things would be best if Killua did the same. He was much aware of Killua’s contempt of Illumi, much aware of how Killua solely viewed him as a cold hypnotist, a manipulator, a tool at their parents’ disposal. But what Illumi Zoldyck had done was out of love. 

Looking at the Zoldyck family from outside their strange, violent bubble was putting things in perspective for Illumi. Kalluto had forever been at their mother’s side, dolled up in silk kimonos, hair cut to their mother’s preference, instructed to not speak unless spoken to. But somehow, Kalluto had managed to leave the nest, as Killua had before him. Now only Milluki was under their parents direct care and Illumi suspected that was only because the boy could not summon the courage to leave the comfort of his isolated video game and snack filled basement. Illumi felt another twinge of something. Kalluto, at age twelve, had left home to live with the phantom troupe. At the time Illumi had viewed his actions as rash and foolish, but looking back he now saw the courage it had taken.

Illumi types his brief response.

Of course.

…

“And where might you be off to?” Hisoka licks the tip of his index finger to turn the page of his book. Ugh, I should have known he was one of those people.

Living with Hisoka, even for such a short duration, has exposed many of the strange man’s unsavory habits.

“Dinner.” Illumi states deadpan, sliding into his flat shoes and shrugging on a light coat. “With my brother.”

Illumi does not know why he added that last bit. Perhaps to ensure that the magician would not get jealous? This was laughable. But was that, was that “guilt”? He and Hisoka were a lot of things, but in a committed relationship was not one of them. 

“Mm.” The man mumbles. “Which one?”

Illumi turns away from the door. “Well,” he starts, “it cannot be Killua or Alluka, and since I am on the outs with my parents it can’t be Milluki ‘I still live in my parents’ basement’ Zoldyck. So who would that leave?”

Hisoka finally glances up at him. Illumi is satisfied to see the subtle signs of shock in Hisoka’s features. The slightest dilation of his pupils, the downward tug of his lips, the shift in his brows. Blatant sarcasm really was more of Hisoka’s thing.

“The tiny dark haired one? The one with Chrollo’s gang?”

“Ding ding ding.” Illumi sighs.

When Hisoka’s eyes light up devilishly, Illumi drops the humor.

“Oh no. No. You keep your dirty clown pervert hands off of him. I’ve seen the way you look at Killua.” 

Hisoka rolls his eyes and tilts his head toward Illumi. The sharp line of his jaw catches the golden firelight and Illumi ignores his weakening knees. No need to swoon now Illumi. God he was getting soft.

“I’ll just keep them on you then, dear.” He grins, lips stretched over sharp canines. His hair is down and he’s wearing drugstore reading glasses, but somehow his charm is not diminished.

“In your dreams.” Illumi dismisses, turning and heading out the door to hide the telltale flush of his cheeks.

Winter in Yorkshin is insufferable, the streets forever sodden and covered in litter and mud. The sun had set hours ago and the moon and stars are concealed by smog, rain clouds, and light pollution. In the past few days he had not improved at hailing taxis and as a result was forced to wait in the mounting downpour.

Illumi finally hails a cab, only to slide onto a grimy seat. He delicately pushes a condom wrapper and a cigarette butt to the side with the toe of his shoe. He had come to take living in the Yorkshin city skyline for granted. Up there it was domestic paradise topped with a magnificent view of the best of the city. Nothing but prismatic lights and blue velvet and overstrong coffee. Here, with the rest of the scum, Illumi feels unclean as soon as he steps out the apartment doors.

The restaurant Kalluto had chosen seems nice. A small Japanese restaurant by the docks, neon lights hidden amongst stacks of salt bitten crates and the skeletons of industrial buildings. Illumi enters cautiously, prepared for a trap. He quickly spots Kalluto in a windowside booth. The boy gives a small wave and Illumi makes his way over. 

“Illumi.” Kalluto greets with a small smile.

Illumi returns the pleasant sentiment with a smile of his own, brushing a bit of hair from his eyes and settling in. There is still the threat of a trap, but at the moment Illumi does not much care. He is content enough to sit with his little brother, catch up, and eat a good meal-possible threat of danger be damned.

It had been two years since Illumi had met with his littlest brother, and already at fourteen the boy was starting to come into his own. He had grown a few inches and though he was likely to always be petite, he had filled out. He was more comfortable taking up space. More comfortable making decisions on his own. The confident air the boy had taken for his own was a stark contrast from the way he had hidden in their mother’s skirts as a child. Free from their mother’s pervading influence, the boy was free to wear what he liked: tonight jeans, a v-neck, and an oatmeal cardigan. His hair was longer too, brushing past his shoulders, bangs clipped back. In stature and appearance, disregarding the violet eyes, he had come to strongly resemble Illumi.

Pride swells in Illumi’s chest. “You look well.” He comments.

“I am sorry we never organized anything, I have been really busy as of late.”

Kalluto takes to straightening the table, sliding soy sauce dishes to the right of their napkins and fiddling with his unused chopsticks. “It really alright brother, I’ve been really busy too.”

A waiter swings by to set a floral china bowl of marinated cucumbers on the table and to take their orders. Illumi watches as Kalluto orders his meal, the boy smiling and joking a bit with the waiter. Said boy glances at Illumi quizzically when Illumi orders sake.

“You drink? What’s the point, we can’t get drunk, can we?”

Illumi pauses in thought. It’s true that it would likely take an immense amount of spirit to affect a Zoldyck, and he recalls telling Hisoka just that. Hisoka drinks casually at dinner and at times in bars. Not to mention in the morning when he is upset with Illumi.

“I have discovered as of late that I enjoy the taste.” Illumi says, picking up his chopsticks to lift a few curls of cucumber to his mouth. More like Hisoka’s habits are rubbing off on me.

“How is life as a spider?” The elder brother asks.

“Ho hum.” Kalluto replies with a graceful shrug of his slight shoulders. He then leans over the table and grins brilliantly in Illumi’s face. “I am absolutely kidding, Illumi I love it.”

“Oh?” Illumi inquires politely.

Needing little encouragement, the smaller boy goes on. “Oh I’m just learning so much and everyone is so unique and jobs aren’t as strict and I’m really just having the best time.”

His little brother being part of the Phantom Troupe still irks him, but after hearing from both Chrollo and Kalluto, his worries are soothed.

“That is great to hear. Chrollo said you are fitting in quite well and that you are a great addition to the team.”

Kalluto’s fuschia eyes widen and his mouth opens in wonder. “Re-really? The boss said that about me?” The boy regains his composure and coughs into his fist, trying to cover his blooming cheeks. Hisoka might not be the only one who needs to be warned against setting hands on his little brother.

“He uh, he said he gave you a job this Friday. Is it just a freelance thing?” 

Illumi nods and after swallowing his bite replies, “Yes, I am working on commission. I would like to earn some money before all hell freezes over.”

Kalluto nods for him to continue, at attention. 

“I came to Yorkshin with an associate of mine, Hisoka.” At mention of the notorious man Kalluto rolls his eyes with attitude. “I had promised to help him find Chrollo and he convinced me to leave home while I was ‘grounded’.”

The elder assassin clears his throat and looks out the window to the bay. He can just barely see the outlines of incoming ships through the fogged glass and the rush of the ocean is detectable even over the buzz of conversation in the restaurant. “He conveniently found Chrollo on a dating site the day after I arrived. Knowing Hisoka, this was clearly not a coincidence. I went on a date with your Boss, he offered me a job, and Hisoka vowed to challenge him as soon as I finish the job.”

By now their entrees have arrived and Illumi had been talking in between sweet sips of sake and bites of teriyaki salmon. Across from him Kalluto was digging into crispy katsudon served over a bed of fluffy rice. Kalluto swallows his bite and looks back up at his brother. “Well, I really don’t know what to say. Hisoka’s a suspicious character, but I’m alright with this whole thing if you’re happy with him.”

Illumi blinks. Then he crinkles his nose and glares daggers across the table. The assassin’s aura spikes, Kalluto involuntarily flinching back into the booth seat. It had been years since Kalluto had been faced with Illumi’s rage and he stiffens like a deer in the headlights.

“Are you not dating?” The boy squeaks. 

Illumi scoffs and violently spears a chunk of salmon with his chopsticks. “Everyone else I talk to seems to think so. I myself was not aware.”

“Well,” Kalluto begins shyly, “he is the only ‘associate’ you have brought up on the regular and you are living together now.”

Peeved, Illumi takes a generous gulp of alcohol. 

“Oh, yeah, and he snuck in during the night to whisk you away to his apartment suite in a big foreign city.” Kalluto says this outrageous statement with a perfectly straight face. Just as Illumi had taught him.

Sighing, Illumi deflates and rests his heavy head in his hands. He really could use some sleep. He remembers Hisoka’s comment about sharing a bed and he feels the back of his neck warm. Like anything with Hisoka, Illumi is not sure how this will pan out.

“In the viewpoint of an outsider, I suppose that Hisoka and I are not not a couple. It’s just a conversation we have never really had.” 

Kalluto just looks up at him, glittering purple eyes imploring him to continue. Stifling a smile, Illumi idly twirls his chopsticks between his fingers and continues rambling.

“We live together, we fight, we kiss, we help each other, we share clothes, we make each other meals, we…” Something hits Illumi. His black eyes alright and he sits ramrod straight as the weight of his revelation hits at full force.

“Oh.” He whispers dumbly. Kalluto, the smug brat, is smirking at his brother. 

“Maybe the two of you ought to have a talk.”

It’s not a question. Illumi knows his little brother is right. His brothers often are. How couldn’t they be, with Illumi as their teacher? The elder assassin had just been blinded by the novelty, the intrigue, the confusion of it all. Everything had been a whirlwind since arriving in the famed city of lights. 

Needless to say, there are more pressing matters at hand to attend to. Illumi and Hisoka had been dancing around each other since they were children. Young teens, still bumpy and awkward around the edges. Sharing jibes and jabs, stealing kisses and curses. They could wait a few days. Till after this job, after Chrollo and Hisoka’s inevitable duel.

“Thank you.” 

Kalluto curls his lips, knowingly, sweetly. With that out of the way the remainder of the evening is passed pleasantly, reminiscing on old family memories (while tactfully avoiding recent ones) and sharing past brushes with danger and death. The brothers part, Illumi’s cold hand comfortingly squeezing Kalluto’s shoulder, neither verbally promising to keep in touch, but both mentally making a note of it.

Once he is sure Kalluto has left, Illumi huddles at the edge of a dock. The wood below him is rotting, soaked through with salt and brine. Somehow it is steadying, the lull of the waves, the rock of the boats. This is a smaller dock, not meant for the tourist’s eye, not a home for vacation liners or enormous steamships. Just a few sailboats lolling and dipping in the waves and the shadow of an overwhelmed assassin. Still reeling from his “aha” moment. 

He tugs the collar of his trench coat up, shielding him from winter’s bite. Curious, he looks between his crossed legs and under the dock to the water. The dull cast light of the moon above provides barely enough light to see his reflection. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, pale complexion. With the collar of his coat he looks like some sort of vampire. Leaning away and resting his weight on his outstretched hands, he chuckles. Hisoka had likened him to a vampire, hadn’t he? 

What a silly man. Illumi’s silly man. Illumi’s silly man who was currently waiting for him in their newly shared apartment. Perhaps even in their newly shared bed. Shaking his head at the incredulity of it all, Illumi hails a cab and returns home.

…

Fearless as any trained assassin ought to be, Illumi wastes no time lingering in front of the door like the love struck fool he is. Instead he strolls fluently through into the main room. Something feels new, like a wave of fresh air has rushed through the door alongside him.

He sheds his outer layers, places them in their proper places, and heads to Hisoka’s bedroom. He can see the dusky outline of Hisoka reclined on the king mattress, macilent ankles hanging over the edge. The buttery yellow string lights on the terrace are lit and the light that sieves through the crimson curtains casts a red umbra.

The magician looks up from his book to raise his eyebrows up and down, a silly gesture at odds with the honest smile on his lips. A second glance tells Illumi that Hisoka has nicked the complete tales and poems of Edgar Allan Poe from the side table. The assassin mumbles unintelligibly and disappears into the bathroom.

There, still in the dark, are his jade pajamas, washed and folded neatly on the counter. Did he have them dry cleaned? Atop the tidy pile is a single red rose. Illumi snorts to himself. What an affinity for the dramatics. He dresses and promptly casts a pin into the darkened bedroom.

The needle zips swiftly through the air, through the front cover of Illumi’s book, and through the drywall. Illumi had just narrowly missed Hisoka’s hand (getting a bit sloppy) and said man looks up incredulously. 

“Now was that necessary, Illu?” The assassin shrugs and sits stiffly on the bed. He was prone to sleeping in self dug ditches, so sleeping with another living person was a little out of his comfort zone. 

“Did everything go alright?” Illumi nods. He enjoys not having to talk, to let Hisoka pull most of the weight, conversation wise. Illumi presses a peck to Hisoka’s left temple and pulls the downy covers up to his chin. The assassin shifts so that his back is facing Hisoka, but finds himself unable to close his eyes.

He has always been on guard around Hisoka, and it turns out that reversing that will not be as easy as flicking a switch. Or closing his eyelids. Next to him Hisoka is on his back, Illumi can tell due to the weight distribution and the area of the mattress Hisoka takes up. Illumi can also tell that the man is still awake.

Two hours later, they find themselves in the same positions, unspeaking and unmoving. The room is empty but for two sets of lungs inhaling and exhaling in tandem. Hisoka breaks the stillness first.

Sigh. “This is ridiculous Illumi.”

Illumi considers if he should pretend to be asleep. Figures Hisoka wouldn’t be so easily fooled. And even pretending to be asleep would require letting his guard down to some degree. 

“Yes. It is.”

“Maybe we should just sleep?”

Illumi considers this. What is he afraid of? The threat to his physical body, his life, or the threat to his emotional body, his pride? No, it must be the latter, for both men are more or less equal in strength and skill. That leaves the intimacy, then. 

Illumi listlessly turns to face the magician, comforted by the faint glimmer of yellow eyes in the dark. 

“There’s nothing to be scared of, you know.” Hisoka whispers. Illumi catches his breath as a strong hand reaches to smooth an errant lock of hair. 

“Mm not scared.” The assassin retorts, but his response lacks bite. Illumi is helplessly trapped under Hisoka’s observation, eyes locked. He feels his ribs pull in as Hisoka trails his index finger down his neck, tracing each clavicle and passing the manubrium, hand briefly dipping down the v of Illumi’s sleep shirt. He exerts the slightest pressure. The warmth spreads when Hisoka stretches his hand out wide and makes his way back the way he came.

His outstretched hand stops at the base of Illumi’s ivory throat. By now Illumi’s racing mind has been soothed, nerves fizzling under Hisoka’s ministrations. Hisoka shifts onto his elbow and puts more pressure into the hand around Illumi’s throat. The assassin can feel the press on his trachea, Hisoka’s hand melding the cartilage there.

“Are you scared?” Hisoka asks, voice a low rumble. The assassin can imagine the sound caught deep in his sternum. Illumi maintains eye contact. Mouths “no”. Softens the taut string of his lips. Hisoka smiles easily and handsomely, removing his hand to press kisses into Illumi’s throat, where bruises will surely form in the shape of Hisoka’s hot fingertips. The thought leaves Illumi lightheaded. He curves into Hisoka, bare leg looping over Hisoka’s side, arms winding around the man’s back. He squeezes his eyes shut and the sensation is magnified. Illumi is liquid to Hisoka’s touch, the man’s caresses reducing him to putty and Illumi deftly trusting.

Illumi reciprocates as best he can in his own ways. Slides his upper lip over the shell of Hisoka’s ear, cards through fiery locks with his hands, nuzzles like a cat into his neck. They are too tired for much more than this, movements slowing as the night continues on till they both soften into each other's arms.

…

The next day is spent curled under miles of sheets. They leave only to bring food or use the restroom. Illumi had woken pressed flush against Hisoka’s side, face snuggled into the man’s chest and had promptly decided to remain there. Faced with Illumi’s rare complacency Hisoka does not argue, pleased to sit and read and sip wine with his partner. 

Hands wander, as they had the night before, but Illumi avoids anything below the belt and spooks when he notices Hisoka’s fingers fiddling with the waistband of his shorts. Hisoka immediately takes note of Illumi’s stiffened shoulders and soured aura and instead smoothly slides his hands around to the assassin’s back. Like this they continue into night, Illumi enjoying his rare rest day before returning to work. 

Friday comes, bringing a sense of clarity that stands in stark difference to the previous day of pleasantly blurred lines and muted conversations. Illumi rises at noon to eat a small meal and begin warming up, while Hisoka remains buried somewhere under the duvet. The assassin starts with light dynamic movements, moving on to deeper stretches, and then sitting in meditation to sharpen his nen.

It is unlikely he will need anything advanced to carry out his job tonight, but it certainly doesn’t hurt to be prepared. Around two a package comes addressed to Illumi and a few minutes later Hisoka ambles into the room. The package is plain aside from a spider drawn in sharpie where the sender’s address should be.

“What’s that?” Hisoka yawns, sauntering to the kitchen and fixing himself a cup of coffee. Illumi glances over his shoulder to watch him pour hot water over the grounds in careful circles. The aroma is thick and heady, filling the apartment in seconds. 

“I do not know. I am guessing Chrollo or Kalluto sent it as there is a spider drawn on it.” 

Illumi’s sharp nails slice through the packing tape. “Could you pour me a cup too?”

The assassin lifts the box and places it on the kitchen counter. Hisoka pours two mugs full and pushes one across the counter to the assassin. Illumi grips the content of the package tight in his fists before holding it up in the air for Hisoka to see.

It is a dress of fine sapphire blue satin that gleams in the faint light of the kitchen. Both men are silent as Illumi’s sets the dress down to rifle through the box again. He pulls out a pair of matching heels, toes at an arrow point and heels knife sharp.

Across from him Hisoka settles against the counter, lips pressed into a thin line. His hair is down, bangs curling and getting caught in ginger lashes. Illumi looks from Hisoka to the dress, and from the dress to the Hisoka, pausing to comprehend the situation.

“Oh.” He says faintly. “I do not like Chrollo like that, Hisoka.”

Hisoka crosses his arms and leans forward onto them to better look at Illumi. “What about the kiss?”

“It was purely experimental, from my point of view.”

Hisoka sighs, his exhale warm on the bridge of Illumi’s nose.

“I really shouldn’t be such a dick about this, I mean, I’m one to talk, monogamy wise.”

Illumi nods. “It is alright. If anyone else was to seek your partnership I would end their life.”

Hisoka snorts privately before giving into his amusement and letting out a full belly laugh. “Let’s be glad that’s not the case, eh?”

“Besides, this way you get to see me as a woman.” Illumi throws the statement out carelessly, not anticipating Hisoka’s reaction.

“Ah, how could I forget that promise of yours dear?”

A strong hand shoots out to grab Illumi by the wrist, pointed nails grazing his skin, leaving angry half moon marks.

“I do love watching you use your pins.” Hisoka says throatily, grinning all the while like a cat who got the cream.

The magician’s eyes burn into the back of Illumi’s neck as he frees his wrist, grabs for his coffee, and moves the box and its contents to their bedroom. 

...

 

After a long shower to loosen his muscles, Illumi sits on the floor in front of Hisoka’s closet, squinting. His morning and nighttime routines that kept his hair glossy and healthy have been forgotten, leaving his hair dry and tangled. Fooling around with Hisoka in bed for a day and a half hadn’t helped either.

“Do you have a brush Hisoka?” He calls.

Hisoka appears in the doorframe, casting him an unreadable look. His weight bearing hip juts above the waist of his sweatpants.

“What if,” he begins, speaking thoughtfully, savoring the words on his tongue, “ you let me handle the hair.”

Illumi stares back at him emptily. This was something he had never considered. Self care, when he did stop to make time for it, was a strictly alone thing for him. Hence the “self”. Letting someone touch his hair had seemed an impossibility up until yesterday. 

Hisoka seems to catch on. “You mentioned to me a while ago, during the Hunter Exam, that using your pins on yourself was a lot of work. That it takes a lot out of you. You take care of that, I’ll do your hair and makeup.”

It’s just a job. Why is Illumi so nervous? No, not nervous. Never him. The assassin squares his shoulders and shrugs, shivering as cold water falls down his spine. Why the hell not? 

“Out, out. Give me space to do my work.” Illumi deadpans, chin lifted haughtily, corners of his mouth tugging up. Hisoka raises a brow before leaving, Illumi’s heart skipping at the hungry look in his eye. 

He opens Hisoka’s vanity drawer, finding his needles from where he had hid them among prismatic tubes of lipstick and silvery pans of eyeshadow. He inhales, soothes his tensed muscles, and inserts a few under the square of his jaw. They sink into muscle and ligament, bone shifting and softening into a more feminine curve.

With the first step taken, the assassin flips dark hair from his face and inserts a pair of pins above his brows. They shift as the bones in his jaw had, crackling and crunching. He suppresses a flinch and moves down to his shoulders. He slims them, moving to his chest, feeling out his ribs, then above, contorting his anatomy till he senses his chest expanding. From there on its smooth sailing, inserting the needed pins at his waistline and hips, adjusting his legs minimally.

When finished, he looks to the mirror to inspect his work. In this form he is less muscular, less angular, crooks smoothed and softened. Illumi slides into the blue dress. It doesn’t fit perfectly so Illumi adjusts his needles as needed. He laces the heels and peeks his head out the door in search of Hisoka.

“Thoughts?” He asks carelessly, looking coyly to the side then straight into burning amber eyes. 

Hisoka stands slowly in one moment and slips a hand around Illumi’s waist in another. With Hisoka barefoot and Illumi towering in heels, the assassin has to look downward to see Hisoka’s lewd expression.

“Gross.” He whispers. Hisoka shudders as Illumi’s hot exhalation hits his cheek. “What did you expect, Illu?” Hisoka breathes back.

Illumi blushes and turns his head to their room. He had gotten his desired reaction. He moves to sit before the vanity and Hisoka, broken from his trance, shuffles through his vanity. Hisoka’s brows furrow in concentration as he pulls Illumi’s hair into an updo, sweeps glitzy shadow over Illumi’s lids, and finishes by placing a kiss to Illumi’s cheekbone.

The assassin stands before the mirror, appraising their efforts. He is slim and tall, deep cobalt dress glittering during the magic hour. The neckline curves over his breast, plunges and floats above his navel. The sleeves drip downwards at his wrists, a slit nearly up to his hipbone revealing a generous slice of milky white flesh. 

Illumi blinks when he realizes he is checking himself out and that Hisoka has left the room. As he rotates his head in search of him, his eyes lock on the turning of the bathroom door. Hisoka strides through, hair a fresh shade of deep pomegranate, ebony suit pressed and smoothed.

Arms linked, the two shut the door behind them and hail a cab on the street below.

…

The gala is held at an art museum downtown. It’s a rich man’s affair, everything from the silver to the intricate appetizers overly snobbish and ostentatious. Illumi floats on Hisoka’s arm for a few minutes as the man parades around, smiling genially at select groups, as if he knows them. Which, Illumi supposes, is not an impossibility. 

Kalluto had sent him the profiles of the three men he is to kill over text. It was a tad informal when compared to Illumi’s usual manner of business, but as long as Illumi had sufficient information to work off of, the informalities were of no concern. 

Illumi spots his first victim on the staircase, a man in his mid forties clutching a nearly finished glass of champagne. There is a women to his side around the same age, obviously displeased by the man’s behavior. The man is guffawing at something a young lady inclined against the stair railing has said, meaty hand grasping her by the shoulder. 

“Pig.” Hisoka wrinkles his nose.“Go get ‘em.” He brushes Illumi’s ass and purrs into his ear.

With a brief glare to Hisoka, Illumi struts over, parting his slinky dress to widen the leg slit. By now the grievanced wife has left the scene and when the young woman spots Illumi, she takes the chance to slip away as well. The businessman’s eyes alight when he sees Illumi. Illumi smiles charmingly, cooing and giggling at the man’s misogynistic jokes. With a flirtatious stroke of his hand on the man’s arm, a pull at the lapel, and a coquettish curve of his painted lips, Illumi has his target wrapped around his finger.

He drags the man into an empty hallway, the rhythmic click of Illumi’s heels and the scuffle of the man’s wingtips echoing. As his victim’s lips inch closer to his own, the assassin shoots a pin into the man’s throat. Blood bubbles where the pin meets the man’s flesh, trickling down his neck and onto his crisp dress shirt. He crumples to the floor, heaving for breath, life force gurgling in his cut trachea. Illumi turns on his heel and saunters back out to the main room to entice his second target.

Illumi can feel the buzz of adrenaline and bloodlust to his core, carefully maintained aura disrupted by the sharp spike of malicious energy. He knows Hisoka can sense it too, feels the electricity zip through his veins when he looks over his second victim’s shoulder and into Hisoka’s yellow eyes. 

He makes easy work of his second target, kicking the body into a musty custodian’s closet.

The assassin is poised to strike his last target, a shard of chandelier crystal held above the don’s pounding heart, when Hisoka presses against his back. 

“Hello.” Illumi says flatly. The don’s eyes bug when he sees Hisoka. 

“Help.” He rasps direly, eyes manic, free hand reaching to scrabble helplessly at the magician’s suit sleeve.

“Of course.” Hisoka sneers. Eyes ablaze with killing intent, he wraps his hands over Illumi’s and helps Illumi push the crystal into his chest. The man flails, but doesn’t scream, can’t with the palm of Illumi’s hand crushing his mouth closed, teeth grinding frightfully.

Like the others, the target falls to the marble floor with a thud.

Illumi’s wide eyes stare into Hisokas’ as he smirks, chuckling breathily and clinging to his arm.

“God, I thought I was fucked up Lumi. You might be worse.” Hisoka growls into Illumi’s neck.

“Mm.” Illumi agrees noncommittally. The man slides his palms up the curve of Hisoka’s back, inhaling his spicy sweet aroma. Hisoka’s hand drifts to Illumi’s waist posessively, moving to wedge him against the wall. Illumi’s head cracks at the contact but is too distracted by the shape of Hisoka’s lips on his to care. The kiss is warm and wet, set apart from previous kisses by the sizzle of contact that burns them both to the bone.

They swap breath and pant as they part. “This okay, love?” Hisoka rasps against Illumi’s mouth. Hisoka’s hands are hiking the slit of Illumi’s skirt dangerously high, thumbs tracing abstract shapes into his thighs. Illumi can’t detect the hot flash of anxiety and nods to allow Hisoka into unchartered territory. The magician thanks him with a deep kiss, crushing the air from Illumi’s lungs. Illumi laps kittenishly into his mouth, unable to suppress a moan at the sensation.

Hisoka’s hand snakes under the fabric of his gown, stroking his inner thigh. A distantly familiar heat builds low in Illumi’s gut. A sort of heat only indulged in when it became impossible to ignore any longer. Hisoka stokes the flames with ease, brushing over his arousal to judge Illumi’s reaction. When the assassin bites his lip and tilts his pelvis forward in invitation, Hisoka continues. 

His touches are firmer, fingers no longer whispering over the fabric. A particularly fervent rub has Illumi canting his hips for more friction, upper back flush against the wall. Hisoka’s smile brightens devilishly. He wraps his hands around Illumi’s waist, encompassing his entire waist. Pupils blown and eyes heavy, Hisoka pushes their hips together. Illumi scratches at Hisoka’s shoulders to anchor himself. Hisoka is warm and hard against him, grinding in tight circles. Illumi tilts his head back and Hisoka dives in, mouthing at the knife edge of Illumi’s jaw.

Illumi staggers in his heels as his body liquifies under Hisoka’s grip. The magician steadies him with strong hands. 

“How long will you last?” Hisoka whispers. The timbre of his voice is rich and smooth as dark chocolate and Illumi practically melts into it. He flutters his lashes open, heart thudding and senses overwhelmed. When he tries to respond, his vocal chords refuse to cooperate and only a tiny sigh escapes. 

“God look at you.” Hisoka croons in a strained moan. “My ice prince all in disarray.”

Illumi straightens in his partner’s hold, lips quirking in a rare smile.

“Home.” He says.

Unceremoniously, Hisoka dips down to lift Illumi bridal style. Cradled in Hisoka’s arms, Illumi kicks a long unclothed leg over the magician’s arm. They weave their way through the crowd of guests, ignoring the incredulous looks they receive in transit. 

The cab ride feels far too long, with Illumi following the inseam of Hisoka’s trousers up up up only to trail his hands down again. The cabi is payed generously, the elevator ride a forgettable flurry of hands and mouths.

They at last collapse onto the bed together, sides heaving. Hisoka’s tawny eyes are lidded and pleased, like those of a large cat. Illumi straddles him, heels digging into the meat of Hisoka’s thighs.

“It’s midnight.” Hisoka tilts his head, looking up at Illumi. “Time to derobe, Cinderella.” Illumi complies, skin burning, aching to touch Hisoka without the hindrance of clothing. 

He slips his shoulders out of the gown, letting the fabric pool around his waist and displaying his lily white chest. Entranced, Hisoka waterfalls his fingertips over the new curves and slopes of Illumi’s more feminine chest. He thumbs a peaked nipple, the action eliciting Illumi to arch into the touch and contract his thighs harder around Hisoka’s torso. 

“Do you like it?” Illumi asks, out of breath. 

“Mhm,” Hisoka bares his teeth in a smile, “it's certainly fun.”

Illumi thaws at the praise, lowering the crown of his head to rest at the dip of Hisoka’s breastbone. 

“It’s not you though.”

Illumi lifts his head in surprise, knocking his crown on Hisoka’s chin, pleased expression flickering.

“I love it,” Hisoka continues, “but I fell in love with you. This body is beautiful, but it isn’t yours Illu.”

The assassin pauses, struck dumb. Hisoka loves him? The thought clouds in his head like blood diffused in water. 

“You love me.” He repeats. Illumi claws his fingers into the bed and straightens his arms to look into Hisoka’s eyes. His face is soft, genuine and raw.

Illumi takes in his artfully smudged liner, crooked Roman nose, the yielding twist of his lips. The passion hit hair, mussed in equal parts by the storm and Illumi’s inability to keep his hands to himself. Outside the wind howls, whistling sharply against the tall city buildings. The rain patters against the windows, brings Illumi back to the present.

“I guess I do too.” Illumi replies in a small voice. He flicks his gaze away from the blinding light of Hisoka under him, is forced to look back to read his face.

“What other reason do I have for putting up with you for all these years?”

“Took long enough.” Hisoka grumbles playfully, grinning up at him, happier than Illumi has ever seen him.

“I do not think I would have come with you here if I did not.” Illumi admits, laying flat on Hisoka’s chest.

Hisoka’s hand works to pluck pins from the assassin’s hair. “I figured.” He hums. The tension between them deflates, leaving molten heat in their veins. Illumi can make out the shape of Hisoka’s arousal on his lower belly.

“Would you like to take my needles out?” Illumi offers. 

“Of course, beloved.” Hisoka swoons, smirking as he traces the slope of Illumi’s nose. 

Hisoka props himself on his elbows, gently sliding the pins out. Illumi can’t help but grimace, the sensation uncomfortable no matter who is removing the pins. When Hisoka finishes, Illumi shakes his neck loose and sighs fully. 

“That feels much better, thank you Hisoka.”

“Course. Should we finish what we started?” 

Illumi pauses. Sex hadn’t seemed so daunting in the moment, but now they had paused, the apprehension had returned full force.

Hisoka slides a hand down Illumi’s temple and cups his face. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. It just seemed like there was something you would have liked to do.”

At this statement Illumi is distinctly aware of his half hard cock.

“No, no this is fine. Lead the way.”

With this sentiment Hisoka gently slides the dress over Illumi’s waist, Illumi lifting his hips to help. The satin smooths against his thighs, then calves, skin rising in goosebumps. The light is dim and Hisoka lays his head down on the pillow and draws Illumi to rest on top of him. 

“Why do you get to wear clothes?” Illumi pouts, head nestled against Hisoka’s cheek.

“You’re free to take them off, dear.”

Illumi’s face burns at the nickname and the nature of the statement. Hisoka is always so blatant. 

“I take it you’ve never done anything like this before?” Hisoka asks gently.

Illumi’s hair brushes Hisoka’s chin as he shakes his head.

“Never had the time, it never interested me.”

Hisoka smirks, but his eyes remain tender and sympathetic. “Ah, I figured it would be something like that. For the longest time I thought you were asexual. Now I’m thinking demisexual.”

Illumi has heard the terms passed around before and nods in understanding. 

“Plus you didn’t know what real kissing was.” Hisoka comments dryly.

The assassin laughs breathily and lifts to cup Hisoka’s face in his hands. His cheeks smoosh a bit, making him look softer and more vulnerable. Hisoka looks so open, so human, worlds apart from how he presents himself to the public. All pomp and circumstance, sleek makeup and challenging stares. Illumi plants a kiss dead center on Hisoka’s lips and quirks his mouth when he sees the magician’s astonished look. They gaze at each other in rare open fondness, before Hisoka dives in hungrily.

The motion is sloppy and voracious, lips mushing and molding and gliding against each other. Illumi drinks Hisoka up like a man dying of thirst, lust unfurling in his lower belly. 

“These.” Illumi gasps into Hisoka’s parted lips, twisting the cloth of the magician’s suit in his fists, pulling at his tie with eager hands. “Off off off.”

Hisoka spares Illumi a smug look when he sees his eyes blown wide, lips bitten pink, breath ragged. Instead he fumbles with the buttons of his suit coat, his vest, his starched shirt. Illumi joins the effort, huffing when their joint love-drunk efforts prove ineffective.

Illumi, patience worn through and tried and wasted, rips the vest open at the seams. Hisoka stares in shock before giving over to laughter, the movement making his chest expand and back arch.

“Stop that.” Illumi hisses, pushing Hisoka’s sternum down with the flat of his palm. Hisoka giggles as Illumi wrestles with the tiny buttons of his shirt before biting the threads with his teeth. Finally Illumi wrenches the clothes off, parting the mutilated fabric to display Hisoka’s torso.

The assassin takes him in greedily, trailing his eyes over the slope of his pecs, the line that cleaves his chest in two, the abdominal muscles that ripple under his fingertips.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, Lumi.” Hisoka’s lips curl slyly. Illumi sniffs haughtily and pokes him roughly in the chest.

“Not like this I haven’t. Shut up. I am studying.”

Illumi examines him with an intensity that would have made any other flinch, but Hisoka gazes at him all the while, enjoying how his dark eyes linger and light up in silent approval. The silence stretches, broken only by the roar of the storm just outside the glass doors. Illumi lowers his head to Hisoka’s chest and listens intently. Hisoka’s pulse is irregular and fast, blood pumping vigorously.

He works his way to Hisoka’s pants, fidgeting with the hem before unbuttoning them. Hisoka’s stare is hot and they are trapped in their own chemical bubble. Under the thin linen fabric is a thinner layer of cotton, the only thing separating the assassin from the swell of Hisoka’s cock. He flickers his lashes up to meet Hisoka’s eyes. The man looks back curiously.

Illumi licks a bold stripe onto the cotton, not breaking eye contact. The taste is salty and Hisoka’s spicy sweet scent is all consuming. He watches in real time as Hisoka’s eyes squeeze shut, watches the pleasure wash over his features. Illumi wants to see more of it. He laps again, feels Hisoka twitching under his tongue. Hisoka writhes, clearly trying his best not to rock his hips, to scare Illumi off.

Illumi rubs a hand up and down Hisoka’s side. “Go ahead.” He whispers. Braver now, Illumi snaps the elastic of Hisoka’s underwear. It stings Hisoka, skin blooming vermilion. Hisoka hisses and squirms.

“I said, go ahead.”The assassin insists in a roughened tone reserved for more professional pursuits. Illumi drags the underwear down and off, groping at the ropey muscle of Hisoka’s quads and calves. Beautiful legs, strong and capable. Illumi moves back up to peer quizzically at Hisoka’s freed dick.

“Mine looks different.” He says thoughtfully, before taking it into his mouth. Hisoka gasps ravenously for air, nails digging into the sheets at the sensation.

Illumi is not sure what to do, so he imagines what he himself might find pleasurable and gages Hisoka’s reactions. He puts pressure at the base with a free hand, running his tongue along the length, pausing at the top to pop the head into his mouth. Illumi tries to fit all of Hisoka into his mouth but finds his gag reflex to get in the way. He coughs when his cock brushes the soft tissue of his throat and looks apologetically at Hisoka.

“I am no good at this, but I figured I would try.” He pants.

The tickle of Illumi’s breath on his cock makes Hisoka keen.

“No, no, you’re doing great.” Hisoka groans. He brushes Illumi’s long hair, scratches his nails lightly over his scalp. Illumi leans into it, blushing at the praise.

“Cmere’, I won’t last long if you keep that up.”

Illumi aquieses, shifting closer to Hisoka. His length curves into his stomach, warming the space just below his navel. His hair falls over the sides of his face, then Hisoka’s, further secluding them. 

“You’re lovely.” Hisoka breathes, grinning candidly, tracing the lines of Illumi’s neck with the whirls of his fingertips.

“You’re you.” Illumi says sheepishly. Embarrassment has stained his cheeks, the tips of his ears, the back of his neck, red. He is embarrassed, but not ashamed. Hisoka is no longer a source of shame for him. No longer a train of thought to be discouraged, an entity to ignore. Illumi gives himself over to the heat in his gut, the heat coursing through his veins.

“Can I touch you too?” He asks, hands migrating to Illumi’s waist, previously forbidden territory.

Illumi swallows hard. He wants nothing more. He nods his head. The tension strings his body up tight, bracing for what is about to come next. Hisoka tucks Illumi’s hair behind his ears to let it flow across his broad shoulders. Walks his fingers down Illumi’s torso to meet his cock, stroking it lightly with rough fingertips.

A star dies, tremors reverberating through Illumi’s nerves white hot. His whole body is wracked in an involuntary shudder, head collapsing and hips pitching forward. A cry is ripped from deep in his chest, carnal and crude.

Hisoka’s following stronger touches have Illumi bucking, nearly folding himself in two with the force of his driving hips. His knees shake, then collapse onto the bed, legs firmly straddling Hisoka. Hisoka grunts at the impact, the force of Illumi’s weight pressing against his ribs. Illumi plants his palms into the mattress, moving by instinct as he grinds his hips firmly down. The action leaves both men moaning.

Their noses brush as they grind, both leaning against each other for support. A clap of thunder makes the hairs the nape of Illumi’s nape rise, static dancing down his spine. Hisoka exhales short and hot, his hands dig into Illumi’s waist to root him down to meet his gyrating hips. A wave rears its head and crashes with brute force, every muscle flexing and releasing in tandem as the two gasp.

Illumi’s hands scrabble for purchase at Hisoka’s muscled shoulders, his chest lifting and heaving as he comes. In turn Hisoka’s nails scratch welts into the skin above the assassin’s prominent hip bones. They ride the high together, arcing into each other so their mouths meet to tangle tongue and click teeth.

“Mm.” Hisoka mumbles, the sound rumbling, chest thrumming under Illumi.

Illumi bonelessly shifts off of Hisoka, curling against the man’s side instead. 

Hisoka raises a lazy hand to knit his fingers in Illumi’s knotted hair. “Good?”

Illumi hums contentedly and raises his head enough to level a glare at Hisoka.

“I do not have the energy. Let me sleep.”

 

…

Morning light streams radiates through the part in the curtains. Illumi blinks his sleep-heavy eyes open to peer at the white ceiling above. He turns his head in search of Hisoka only to find his space warm, but empty, the sheets tucked around Illumi with care. Groggily, Illumi staggers to his feet and pads to the bathroom.

The door is ajar, the shower water rushing, musky cardamom and cinnamon hitting Illumi’s nose. He had fallen asleep a la nude, gritty with dried perspiration and salt. He passes by the mirror to see that his meticulously kept hair is a disaster, ratty and tangled, eyes ringed in violet, skin blossoming in bruises.

Hisoka is showering with the door open, humming something cheerful and suitable to the bright morning. The smug bastard.

Illumi joins him, nodding good morning and getting to work on his hair. As he reaches for the bottle of shampoo, Hisoka tuts and grabs it first. He squirts a dollop of it into his palm, lathering it and massaging the product into Illumi’s scalp. The verbena surrounds him, Hisoka gently tending to Illumi’s hair. The water patters against the tile at Illumi’s feet and he bows his head to make Hisoka’s job easier.

“So, love, will you talk to me now?” Illumi can hear the amusement in his chiding tone. 

Illumi pauses to consider. “Hmm, yes I think I will.”

Hisoka moves to conditioner, working it into the ends of Illumi’s hair and moving up. The scent is ripe and fruity, making Illumi’s head dizzy. 

“How was your first time?” Hisoka inquires conversationally.

Illumi shrugs, feeling the resistance of his wet hair weighing his shoulders down. 

“Nice.” He says noncommittally.

“‘Nice’?” Hisoka mocks, smiling deviously. Illumi cannot see his expression, but knows this to be true. His pointy nails scratch circles into the crown of Illumi’s head. “I think you enjoyed it quite a bit.”

Illumi flushes and stares down at his feet. Bony, perhaps the palest part of him. There is a slight tan line from the flat shoes he often wears. They sit in the quiet of the morning as Hisoka runs hot water down Illumi’s hair to where it ends at his tailbone. He presses a thumb into one of the dimples above Illumi’s ass and the assassin straightens on instinct.

He twists to see Hisoka’s lazy smirk. That constant leer of his annoys Illumi to no end. Illumi smirks back. Leans in and kisses the self satisfied curve of his lips. Illumi’s hair is quickly forgotten in lieu of kissing, Illumi pressing Hisoka’s back into the shower walls.

“It was very nice. Thank you.” Illumi’s cannot bring himself to say more than this, is not accustomed to the same shamelessness Hisoka revels in. They wash each other and dress lightly, heading to the kitchen for breakfast.

Illumi sits, legs curled under him, at a bar stool. He is drowning in a borrowed shirt from Hisoka, waiting patiently for Hisoka to brew coffee. Hisoka and Illumi are around the same height, give or take an inch, but where Hisoka is broad, Illumi is lithe. Hisoka has the body of a swimmer, Illumi the body of a gymnast. This comes to Illumi as he studies the musculature of Hisoka’s bared back, thin waist, and the curve of his legs. Hisoka disrupts Illumi’s train of thought.

“Before you get up and go home, I have something to tell you.”

Illumi freezes. Go home?

“Asking for your help was just an excuse to get you to come here. I never expected you to stay, I never expected this. I can never anticipate you.”

Illumi sighs and rests his head in his palm. How Hisoka of all people could be so obtuse was beyond him. He blows an errant strand of hair from his face as Hisoka rambles on.

“I’ve put my obsession with Chrollo and the spiders behind me, I wanted to see what would happen if I got you out of your comfort zone.” Hisoka turns from the coffee pot, gesturing to the two of them widely. “And what I got was this.”

Illumi presses his lips into a thin line. “Does this displease you? Is this arrangement not satisfactory to the both of us? Didn’t you say something about loving me?” I believe I returned the feeling. Illumi shoots the questions rapid fire and watches Hisoka’s stony expression thaw.

“No, no, Lumi, that’s not what I meant. What I was trying to get at was that communication is a two way street, a two way street neither of us are very good at driving on.”

The assassin wrinkles his nose and exhales. “That is the truth.”

Hisoka lifts himself onto the counter. “Then I’ll be honest. I do love you, so much that I want to be the only one to touch you, to look at you. I think you’re the most intelligent, gorgeous, dangerous individual I have ever come across and I see you as my only equal. Should you have to die one day, I want it to be at my hand, no one else’s.”

Illumi’s heart picks up pace. In the background the coffee pot steam and hisses, sirens and horns sound distantly from the traffic below. He is here, present in the heart of the city with the only man he has ever loved. 

“This whole thing is silly. I thought we got our whole ‘feelings’ thing out of the way last night.” Illumi whispers.

Hisoka tilts his head towards the assassin, like partners in crime, as he whispers back, “It never hurts to clarify.”

A small smile graces Illumi’s face as he covers one of Hisoka’s hands with his own. He can feel the life flowing in Hisoka’s veins. The life that Illumi will eventually take, as Hisoka will take his own. They will take each other in every sense of the word. Mind, body, soul. This arrangement sounds satisfactory to Illumi.

“So what are you asking me, Hisoka Morow?” 

Hisoka’s blood red hair curls over his temple. His complexion is clear and his lion gold eyes shine. He grins goofily. Extends a hand as he had that stormy night, scarcely a week ago.

“Stay?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! It means the world to me <3


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